


Second Chances

by the_awkward_outlaw



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Swearing, Violence, Wild West, is this a novel?, sticks fairly to cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-09-24 01:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 270,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20350168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_awkward_outlaw/pseuds/the_awkward_outlaw
Summary: On the run from the law in Blackwater, you have been an outcast for a year for your crimes. A mysterious bounty hunter arrives to collect the price on your head. You have to figure out a way to escape, and somehow you find yourself incorporated into the notorious Van der Linde gang. Over the months, you discover the true meaning of family, friendship and even more.





	1. The Hunter

Chapter 1 - The Hunter

**Author’s note: This (and the first few chapters to hopefully follow) takes place a few months before the events of Blackwater

You stare at the slowly burning embers of the mornings’ fire. The air around you is cool, but not unpleasant. You are close to the old cabin near Aurora Basin in Tall Trees, which is slowly being overtaken by nature’s embrace. You gaze around the area, watching as the sun stretches its fingers between the tops of the tall pines. The morning mist still clings to the land, but it’s slowly giving way to the warmth.  


You had been here for nearly a week. You had already entered the crumbling cabin and raided the furniture, coming up with nothing but an old pack of cigarettes and a can of baked beans. You had set up your tent not far from the cabin, enough out of the way from the view of the path that bordered the edge of the lake.  


You had grown to like this place. You were so used to moving around, never being in one place for more than a week or two. It was required for your freedom, your life. You didn’t regret what you did, not at all, although your past sufferings still haunted you and filled your dreams. They deserved it, those people, but the authorities, that idiot sheriff in Blackwater and his deputies refused to believe that you did those things to protect yourself, and to get revenge for what they did to you, so you had to stay on the run.  


It had been a year ago when you had taken justice in your own hands and made those horrible people, those who called themselves your family, face their own punishments for what they did to you. But you don’t like thinking about it, it’s too painful, and you still don’t understand why they did it, why they treated you the way they did.  


You stretch your arms up, yawning widely. You definitely needed to go hunting today. The rabbit you had caught a couple days back was long gone, and the roots and berries you had foraged were getting low. All of your rations were getting slim, but the last thing you would do is wander into a town to buy food, not when you risked getting caught.  


You grab your tin cup and drain the last of the coffee. You stand up and go to the lake, rinsing your tin in its cool water. You go back to the fire and kick dirt over it, killing the flames. You approach your trusty steed, the only good link to your past you still had left. She’s a tall, long-legged buckskin American Standardbred named Rain. You had raised her from a foal, hell you held her head in your lap only moments after she had been born, still wet and steaming from the process. She snorts in greeting as you rub her beautiful face, stroking the white star on her forehead. You grab the bow from the saddle and check the arrows. Nearly a full quiver. Excellent. The forest is teaming with prey. You gaze at the lake, watching as a large rock bass leaps into the air to grab an insect. You wish you could fish in the lake, but even if you had a fishing pole, you don’t know how to fish. Just another thing you were never allowed to learn.  


You head off into the forest, telling Rain to stay put. She goes on grazing, swishing her tail without a care. You tread carefully through the forest, looking for signs of life. Years ago, you had stumbled upon a camp of a hunter who had been mauled by a bear. He had a bow and a knife, both of which you had taken and which were still on your person now. You had taught yourself how to hunt shortly afterwards out of necessity.  
You step quietly through the trees, avoiding walking into bushes to make as little noise as possible. You look to your right and see on a wide pine tree the telling signs of a buck that had been rubbing its antlers. There, on the ground and caught in the rough bark, are the strips of velvet he had scraped off. You look around, looking for signs as to which way he went. You see beyond the tree a bush with several stems stripped of leaves, another sign that the deer had been this way, browsing. You go to it and notice the droppings, relatively fresh. He’s close.  


You see the faint slots of his hooves in the ground around you and follow them. After a few moments, you hear just around the bend of a large boulder something snorting and stomping. What in the world is making that noise?  


You walk around the boulder slowly, arrow at the ready. Then you see it. The buck. His head is in between two trees that have grown close together, his antlers are keeping him prisoner between the trunks. It’s clear he was trying to rub the last strips of velvet away to expose the strong tines growing from his head. You think for a moment to shoot him, but you find yourself incapable of shooting an animal that is so helpless. You sheathe the arrow and pull the bow around you, situating it behind your back. You approach the struggling stag slowly, hands raised. He spots you and snorts angrily, stomping to tell you to get away. You’re close to him, if you wanted you could reach out and touch his sweating withers, but you don’t. You wrap your hands around his antlers tightly, his neck begins to writhe as he tries to throw you off. You can see the fear in his eyes, the whites ringing his irises. You give a powerful twist, freeing his antlers. You release him and he flees into the trees, tail raised high.  


You wipe your hands off on the bark of the trees. Some of the velvet from his antlers had come off in your hands, leaving them bloody. You grab your bow again and go off in order to search for other prey.  


After some time of searching, a rabbit scurries across the path in front of you. Without thinking or hesitating, you shoot it. It squeals in pain before it dies. You grab it and yank hard on the flesh, stripping it quickly and cleanly from the muscles. You put the skin in your satchel, it’s worth a few dollars if you can find someone to sell it to. You sling the rabbit carcass over your shoulder and begin to head back to the basin.  


Along the way, while you retrace your steps through the thick trees, a small cardinal lands on a branch just above you and starts serenading the forest. You wish you could understand him. You’ve been on your own for the past year, only talking to people you were selling to. You silently acknowledge in that moment how lonely you’ve been, how much you want someone to talk to. But, you have to admit, the isolation has been a vast improvement over the company of those you left behind.  


The basin begins to peak through the thick trees, glistening its greeting to you. The sun is starting to set, turning the trees to fire. You stop for a moment and take in the view. You’ve been to many places in New Austin, which had its own unique beauty, although a little too hot for your taste. You had come to West Elizabeth in search of new hunting grounds where you could easily hide, and this was the farthest north you had been in a long time. It was far more stunning than you can recall from when you were a child. Or maybe you were just too young to notice.  


You approach the small pile of burned wood you had been burning your fire on this morning. The rabbit needed to be cooked now before it began to rot. You coax the coals, which are still warm, back to life. You take the crewd spit you had designed some months ago and skewered the rabbit to it. You wait for a while to allow the fire to become hot enough to cook on.  


As you begin skewering the rabbit to the spit, you get a feeling that something is wrong. The birds around you are still twittering happily, so it can’t be a predator. The wind shifts a little. You get a strong sense that you are being watched. You shake your head, trying to rid the feeling, as you place the spit around the burning logs.  


For a few moments, the feelings of unease begins to lessen, although you still feel eyes on your back. Of course, no matter how many times you look into the trees behind you, your eyes find nothing. You go to rotate the rabbit when Rain suddenly snorts sharply and wickers, stomping her foot. You know your horse too well to know that she means something is wrong. You listen to her warning and hop up, rushing over to your tent and begin scrambling everything into a large pack. It takes less than five minutes to get everything packed up, you’re used to unpacking as few things as possible in case you need to leave quickly. You collapse the canvas tent and begin folding it when suddenly you hear something behind you. It sounds like a rush of the wind.  


Seemingly out of nowhere, a rope wraps around your waist and your yanked roughly to the ground. You grunt loudly as your shoulders slam into the earth, and you begin struggling to get the rope off, your heart thundering in your ears.  


“Not so fast,” says a gruff voice. Strong hands yank your hands behind your back and tie them tightly together, and then move down to your ankles. You fight as hard as you can, but the man tying you up seems to have no problem overpowering you. When you feel his hands leave your ankles, you turn yourself as much as you can, with some difficulty, to look at your captor.  


A tall, wide-shouldered man in a striped blue shirt with a black bandana tied loosely around his neck, and an old, worn out cowboy hat, stuffing the rope he used to bind you into a satchel, stands at your feet. His face is hidden by his dark hat, and you can’t help feeling a surge of hatred for this man. He’s a bounty hunter, no doubt.  
“Listen, mister,” you try to reason.  


“I ain’t here to listen to why you think you’re innocent or how I got the wrong person, lady,” snarled the man. He begins to approach you in order to pick you up. He whistles loudly, and you hear a horse trotting over, whinnying in reply.  


You know in that moment the game is up. The man has tied you too tightly for you to loosen the bonds and free yourself, and you have a feeling that there isn’t any use in trying to talk your way out. In a matter of seconds, your past rushes before your eyes. The pain those people caused, the unknown cruelty. The crimes you committed to free yourself from them. The last year, with all its loneliness. The fight leaves you, you decide that you want it all to be done.  


“Fine, mister. Take me to Blackwater. Hand me to the sheriff and get your money’s worth. But, please, offer me one kindness.”  


“I don’t know nothing about kindness,” he says roughly, finally looking at you. You notice his blue eyes, the light blonde stubble. If he had been closer, you would have noticed the scar on his chin.  


“Please, mister. All I’m asking is one favor.”  


He sighs heavily, staring off into the trees. You begin to think he’s going to just pick you up and go on his way. “What is it?” he finally says.  


“Take my horse with you.” This takes him by surprise, you’re sure he was waiting for you to ask him to let you go or something along those lines. You feel the need to explain in order to try and convince him. “She means more to me than anyone in the world, and she deserves to be offered a new life, a good one. She shouldn’t be abandoned here by herself to be eaten by wolves.”  


He sighs again. “Fine, guess I can do that.”  


He picks you up and slings you over his shoulder. You try to shift yourself so his shoulder will stop burying itself into your lower ribs. He hoists you onto the back of his horse, who seems to be a palomino paint. You hear him walk away, and Rain whinnies uncertainly.  


“Easy, girl,” he says in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”  


She rumbles deeply in her chest, which you know means she’s getting her face rubbed. You hear his returning footsteps with thumping hooves and the sound of him attaching your horses reigns to his saddle horn. The paint horse shifts slightly as the man mounts up into the saddle.  


“Come on, girl” he says fondly, and you hear him patting his horse’s neck. Within seconds, the horse beneath you is cantering away from the lake. You look at what’s being left behind, the remains of your tent and the rabbit still burning away over the fire. What a waste.  


The ride is a rather painful one as the horse’s hindquarters thrust into your gut. You’re glad you didn’t have much in your stomach, you’re sure it would be making a surprise reappearance by now. The sun has set now, the only signs that it was ever present is the dark orange glow on the western horizon, but even that is slowly giving way to the dark blues and purples of the night. You lift your head as much as you can and notice the trees are thinning. You’re almost to Great Plains, you’re sure. You feel the horse slowing down to a brisk trot.  


“You’re in luck, ma’am,” says the man, stopping the horse. “I ain’t gonna take you to Blackwater tonight. We’ll rest up first before I take ya there.”  


“Why not just keep going and let me get this over with?” you gasp, your gut heaving painfully from the bumpy ride. He huffs loudly. “‘Cause I had a rough night, need some sleep myself. ‘Sides, you should be thankin’ me. Yer last night under the stars, I reckon. Take advantage of it.”  


He heaves you off his horse and back onto his shoulder. Your ribs protest at his shoulder again, but you make no noise. You won’t give this man the satisfaction of hearing your pain. He swings you down into a sitting position. “Now, don’t you try nothing. I’m doin’ you a favor,” he warns. Before you have time to ask what he means, you feel him cutting the bonds away from your wrists. Once your hands are free, he pushes your shoulder against a scraggly tree and wraps a thick rope around your waist, binding it from behind where you can’t reach.  


“Thank you,” you say unhappily after a moment, massaging your sore wrists. He grunts in response, going back to his horse and starts pulling things out of his saddle bags in order to make his own camp. You ignore him as he lays out his bedroll and gathers logs for firewood, preferring instead to gaze at the stars winking above you. You’ve always loved looking at stars. You recall your grandmother, telling you as a child, how the purest people would become stars when they died and would be granted to run free through its purple meadows and dark blue rivers for all eternity. All you can do now is wish that what she said was true, and in a few days time perhaps you can meet her up there. You doubt it, though. You’re far from pure, and a place as lovely as that is not meant for a person like you.  


“Ya know,” says the man suddenly, pulling you from your distant thoughts. “Fer a woman with a $500 bounty on yer head, yer unusually quiet and obedient.” His face is turned away from you as he gazes into the fire, holding a strip of meat on a knife over the fire. You can see engravings in the knife’s blade, and think you see the large round eyes of an owl among the marks.  


“I know when it’s time to stop running, mister,” you admit quietly. You can see the fire reflecting in his eyes, but the blue in them is still obvious.  


“Ya ain’t my first bounty I’ve caught, miss. Only most people I catch, well, they either holler insults at me or try to bribe me or somethin’ ‘round those lines. And most of those people had a smaller price on their heads. So why you bein’ so easy?” He finally looks at you as he stuffs the cooked meat into his satchel.  


You’re silent for a moment, thinking about how much to tell him. Why should he know why you did what you did? You doubt he’d understand. After all, no one did. The only thing people seemed to care about when it came to your crimes was the fact you had killed those people, they never bothered to ask why.  


“My life,” you finally answer. “Has been nothing but a pile of shit. I just ain’t never had the courage to end it myself. Believe me, mister, you’re doing me a favor by taking me back there. At least they’ll hang me, and I can be free.”  


He continues to look at you with a strange expression. Was it curiosity? Or stranger yet, sympathy?  


“I asked that sheriff down in Blackwater what a young woman like yerself did to get such a big bounty,” he says, his voice gentle, almost the way it was when he was greeting his horse. “He said you murdered yer husband, yer parents, and then burned yer parents’ house down. No offense, but you don’t look like the kind to kill yer family.”  


“You didn’t know my family. I’d like to see anyone try to live with them and not end up killing them.”  


The man falls silent and stares at you. You wish he would look away. Just please look away, you think. You’re used to people staring at you in disgust, in contempt, almost like you were an unwelcome slug they had to put up with. This look he was giving you was foreign. You break the eye contact, looking back into the sky. At least you have this one last night of freedom to stare into the stars, trying to spot your grandmother. The world around you slowly turns black as you begin falling asleep. Your last thought is that all of this will soon be behind you. One way or another, you’ll be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is greatly welcomed! Press that kudos button if you like what you read!


	2. Trapped

Warnings - blood

The sun’s light brings you back unwillingly to the world. The birds in the trees sing happily, uncaring to the fact that this is one of the last days you’ll be alive. You shift uncomfortably, still not opening your eyes. Your midriff is sore and stiff from being thrown over the bounty hunter’s horse. You can hear him moving around, he’s probably getting ready to cut the ropes binding you and take you to Blackwater. You open your eyes and stretch your arms out.  


The bounty hunter has his back turned to you, packing things into his saddle bags. You shift your weight a little, trying to bring some feeling back into your stiff legs. That is when you realize your binds are gone; nothing is holding you to the tree. The man must have heard you because he turns to look at you.  


“You really think I’m so mellow to let you take me in without any rope?” you challenge him. He smiles slightly.  


“Nah, I ain’t takin’ ya in, ma’am,” he says, going back to his saddle bag. You narrow your eyes at his back. Why would he suddenly change his mind? What bounty hunter would turn down $500, especially when he’d already done the work of tracking you down and tying you up? Something about this is wrong. You wonder for a moment if you should take your chance and run now, but you’re sure he set a trap. Maybe he wants you to give him a bit of a fight. Some bounty hunters like that.  


Perhaps the man senses your distrust. He turns to stare at you, still sitting by the tree. He sighs heavily, then he goes and grabs your horse’s reigns. He leads her over to you.  


“I’m serious, ma’am. I ain’t takin’ ya in, and I ain’t tryin’ to set you up. I figure I ain’t the right person to judge yer actions, especially when it sounds like yer family didn’t know how to treat ya right.”  


You stare up at him, still not trusting his word. “Why do you care about my judgement, mister? You don’t know me, I don’t know you. Besides, that’s a lot of money to throw away.”  


He smirks at you. “Well, yer right about the lost money, so I hope you don’t mind that I went through yer saddle bags and found a real nice watch.” Like you could care less. You stole that off of a previous bounty hunter you had shot and killed. It couldn’t be worth more than $10 though.  


“Listen, ma’am, I know I ain’t given ya much reason to trust me, and I don’t expect ya to. Just get on yer horse and go on yer way, and let’s both pretend this never happened.”  


You stand up slowly, still hesitant. He hands you the reigns to your horse, and you grab them from his calloused hands. He stares at you with another odd expression that you can’t quite place.  


“Miss, I don’t wanna overstep any bounds, but I wanna offer you somethin’.”  


You stare back into his eyes, and you can’t tell if they’re blue or green in this light as the sun slowly crawls higher into the sky, illuminating the grassy hills of Great Plains spreading out behind him. You’re immediately suspicious of this man.  


“I ain’t gonna be the last bounty hunter you meet,” says the man without waiting for you to speak. “And somethin’ tells me I ain’t the first neither. Seems like you been runnin’ on yer own for some time. You should leave this place. Go east or go west. Just get away from Blackwater, and don’t come back. They ain’t gonna stop lookin’ for ya.”  


You know the man’s right, but you can’t understand why he would be giving you advice. He’s confusing, that’s for sure. “Thanks for the advice, mister.”  


He sighs again. “I’ll do one more favor for ya. I won’t tell anyone I seen ya. Just get out of here, and take care of yerself.”  


You turn away from him hastily and approach Rain. You think for a moment to give her a treat, but you want to be away from this man as quickly as possible. You mount the buckskin standardbred quickly and prod her sharply with your heels, urging her forward quickly. You glance behind you at the man, who has gone back to packing up his camp. Perhaps he was being honest about letting you go. You pat Rain in relief, praising her.  


You direct her back into Tall Trees. You need to return to Aurora in order to gather what was left of your own camp. The thundering of Rain’s hooves fill your ears, and you’re too busy thinking about where you will go next. Maybe you should head farther north in West Elizabeth. You’d also heard years ago that Ambarino was stunningly beautiful. You’re so deep into your own thoughts that you don’t hear the snarl to your right. The only thing that alerts you to the fact that there’s a predator is Rain slowing down on her own. You try prodding her forward, but she refuses. She starts stomping her feet, snorting and neighing loudly, tossing her head. Without warning, she rears up and bucks you off her back, bolting out of the trees. You scream out of fright as you fall. The landing knocks the wind out of you, and it takes you a second to find the strength to lean up and see what has spooked your horse. Between the trees of the thickening forest, you spot the round amber eyes of a cougar peering out at you. You quickly hoist yourself to your feet, but you do not run. You know enough not to run. To do so would guarantee your death. You pull out your sawed-off shotgun, the same one you used to kill your family a year ago.  


You begin to aim the gun at the cat, but it moves too quickly for you. It leaps at you, but stumbles on a large loose rock, which knocks it slightly off course, causing it to rake a sharp claw across your forearm. The pain and shock of having such a large predator so close to you causes you to drop your gun. You clutch your arm, trying to slow the sudden flow of blood. The cat circles around quickly, preparing to jump again. Instinctively, you start yelling as loud as you can and throw your arms up and start waving them around. You know you look and sound ridiculous, but if you seem to be bigger, perhaps the cat will leave you alone. It doesn’t work, and you can see your fate in the cougar’s angry eyes.  


You prepare yourself to be overpowered when the sound of a revolver explodes in your ears. You flinch hard as the cougar suddenly drops dead, blood seeping from the open wound in its neck.  


You turn your head and see the bounty hunter approaching you on his palomino paint. He pulls her to a stop and then leans forward, resting his arms on his saddle horn, smiling at you. “So much for takin’ care of yerself.”  


You clasp your left hand over the heavily bleeding cut on your arm, and reluctantly give him a grateful smile.  


“Thanks, mister. Guess I owe ya for this, too, now.” You hate being in debt to people.  


“Nah, you don’t owe me nothin’, miss,” he says, dismounting his horse and approaching the dead cat. You take a step back as he pulls out his knife. He bends down and starts to cut the skin away from the carcass. You whistle for Rain, and soon you hear her whinny. When she stops near you, you reach into one of the saddle bags and start rummaging through it, looking to see if you have anything to wrap your arm up with since the bleeding seems to be getting worse. You come up with nothing except one of your old shirts, which is caked with dry mud from when you tripped a few days back and landed in a mud hole.  


“You alright?” the bounty hunter asks as he throws the cougar’s pelt over his horse’s hindquarters.  


“Yeah,” you respond as you try to find a clean strip of fabric to put on your wound.  


The man approaches you slowly. He makes to grab your arm, and you flinch hard, taking a few steps back from him. He raises his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Ma’am, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I just wanna make sure it ain’t too bad.” He makes to grab your arm again, more slowly this time, and you let him.  


He holds your arm gently, his large hands warm and slightly bloody from skinning the cougar. He inspects the long, deep cut. It’s the first time you’ve seen it as well. The cougar’s claw had gone down deep into your skin, shredding the flesh. The skin around the cut is red and angry.  


“Ma’am, you should go see a doctor. Get yerself looked at, maybe clean this.”  


“I can’t go to a doctor,” you say defiantly. “I take one step into Blackwater, I’m a dead woman.”  


“Well, I guess yer right.”  


You’re both silent for a moment, and he lets your arm go. You wrap your left hand around it again, but it does little to stifle the flow. The man sighs heavily. “Well, why don’t you come with me? I’ll take ya to the camp I’m with. There’s a man there who can help ya with that cut.”  


He goes back to his horse and reaches into one of his saddle bags, pulling out a white cotton shirt. He pulls out his knife and shreds away the sleeve, stuffing the now ruined shirt back into the bag. He comes back to you, stretching the strip of cloth. You take a hesitant step back, still clutching your arm.  


“Easy, there. I just wanna wrap this ‘round yer arm,” he explains, getting closer to you. You allow him to take hold of your arm again and he gently wraps the sleeve around it, tying it off tightly above the wound. It hurts like hell, and you involuntarily jerk your arm back. The man holds onto the cloth tighter, finishing the knot as gently as he can. He lets you go, and you quietly examine the tight work he has done, although your arm still throbs painfully.  


He turns away to mount his horse, but you stand still.  


“Are ya comin’ then, miss?” he asks, a mixture of gentleness and impatience. You’re doubtful of this stranger’s intentions. He’s unpredictable. Whenever you think he’ll go left, he ends up going right.  


“Miss, I’m tryin’ to help ya. That cut ain’t gonna get any better on its own, and, like ya said, ya can’t go strollin’ into Blackwater to see a doctor. When yer all patched up, ya can leave.”  


You realize you’ve little option but to take this man up on his offer. A small voice in the back of your head reminds you that, so far, he’s been honest and even helpful. You turn and mount Rain, patting her neck fondly. You wince as your arm stings sharply as you grab the reigns. You urge Rain into a trot and follow the man, shaking your arm gently to try and relieve the sting.  


“Don’t do that, miss,” Arthur shoots back, turning his horse slightly to glance at you. “Yer just gonna make it bleed more, shakin’ it like that. Hold it tight with yer hand.”  


The two of you continue on, and you heed the man’s advice, gripping your left hand tight over the knot, despite the pain.  


“Camp ain’t too far. Just down south of here. Ya think you’ll be okay for the next ten minutes or so?” the man calls back at you. You shout ahead that you can make it. The man urges his horse into an easy canter, and you follow his lead.  


The two of you head south through Great Plains towards a place you know to be called Hennigan’s Stead. You follow the trail, looping around a place you’d heard was called Stillwater Creek, a small lush pond with a rickety pier poking into it. As you pass the pond, you silently admire it, thinking it’s like an oasis in this hot, dry land. The man leads you a little ways south past this. Just across a shallow gorge, you see the yellow ridges of Hennigan’s Stead. Just before the gorge is a large copse of trees, and hidden cleverly among them, wagons and tents have been set up, creating a large camp. The bounty hunter leads you down the trail to the camp, and a man holding a rifle calls to him.  


“Who’s there?” the man with the rifle demands. He’s a large, broad shouldered black man, but you notice some qualities in his face that you’ve seen in Indians. You wonder briefly which race he is, not that it matters of course.  


“Comin’ in, brought someone with me,” responds the bounty hunter. The rifle man stares at you, suspicious. You eye his gun, hoping you won’t need to worry about it.  


You guide Rain to a hitching post right next to where the bounty hunter is hitching his palomino paint. He dismounts and pats her fondly, feeding her a beet. “Well done, Boadicea,” he praises. You follow his lead, dismounting Rain. Your arm is stinging badly, but the blood flow has seemed to have slowed down slightly on its own. You glance at the camp around you, and you can see many of the people here staring you down, questioning your presence. Instantly, you feel extremely conspicuous and aware of how poorly you look. The last time you bathed was a few days ago when you were still at Aurora Basin, and now you’re also covered in dirt and blood from your encounter with the cougar.  


“This way, come on,” says the bounty hunter, catching your attention and beckoning you to follow him. Against your better judgement, you obey. He takes you to a wagon with a canvas stretched over one side, shading two bedrolls and a crude desk. A middle aged, thin lipped man wearing small circular glasses and a grey suit sits at the desk, reading a newspaper.  


“Herr Strauss,” the bounty hunter greets him, tipping his hat slightly.  


“Ah, Herr Morgan. How has your day been?” asks the man in a thick accent. Was it German? You can’t be sure, not being much of an expert on accents yourself. Definitely European though.  


“Well enough. Listen, can you do me a favor?” he gestures to you and you take an unsure step forward, your left hand wrapping around your cut again. “She got swiped by a cougar. I’m pretty sure she’ll need some stitches.”  


Strauss narrows his already thin lips and stares coldly at you. “Herr Morgan, ve’re not a charity. Take her to the doctor in Blackvater.” He flicks the newspaper open again and sets his eyes on a column. The man he addressed as Morgan grabs his gunbelt in a leisurely manner and takes a step forward.  


“Strauss, she can’t go to Blackwater. Let’s just say she ain’t wanted there, but you’d be doing me a favor to patch her up.”  


Strauss folded the newspaper and sighs. “Very vell, but I’ll expect you to repay me vith some debt collections.”  


“Of course,” agrees Morgan.  


Strauss’s lips stretch into a wide, almost mischievous grin, his eyes narrowing as he stares at Morgan over his small, circular glasses. He stands up and heads to the back of the wagon. You can hear the tinkling of glass bottles and the sounds of him ruffling through wooden boxes as he mutters to himself. He comes back, holding sutures, a bottle of whisky, and cotton. He gestures for you to sit in the chair he had just been occupying. You do as he says, realizing that to be disobedient in this camp could mean very bad business for you. Strauss reaches for your arm and begins untying Arthur’s makeshift bandage. Your cut throbs painfully as the bandage becomes looser. You look away as he peels the final layer off of your shredded skin. He tips the whisky over the cotton, and then he hands you the bottle.  


“Drink this,” he commands. You take the bottle and sip from it, the dark liquid turning your throat to fire. You groan as you feel it go down your esophagus and into your stomach. Strauss starts dabbing the whisky-soaked cotton as gently as he can to your ripped arm. You cannot prevent the sharp hiss escaping your mouth as the cut screams. Strauss ignores you, but Morgan stays close by.  


“You’re lucky the cat caught ya there, ma’am,” says Morgan. “I think if he got ya anywhere else, you wouldn’t have made it.”  


“At least I had that on my side,” you say, trying to ignore the pain as Strauss finished up with the alcohol. He prepares the sutures and then begins to close the wound. You do your best to distract yourself from the feeling of him tugging, but it’s hard to ignore the pain, so you take another long swig of whisky.  


“We ain’t been properly introduced,” says Morgan, pulling over a chair and lighting a match on his boot. He holds it to the cigarette he’s placed between his lips. “Name’s Arthur Morgan.”  


You can tell he’s trying to distract you from Strauss’s actions, which is appreciated but you can’t understand why he’s doing it. “I guess you already know my name from the Blackwater sheriff.”  


“Hmm,” Arthur says, puffing on his cigarette. “Guess I do. You ever think of takin’ on a different name, hidin’ yer identity? Probably a smart move on yer part when ya head out on yer way.”  


The truth is that you had not thought of that, but then you came into so little contact with other people you don’t know if it is really necessary. You shrug your shoulders, inhaling sharply as the movement causes your arm to twitch slightly, pulling on the sutures. Strauss ignores the movement, continuing on his work.  


A man approaches Arthur’s back. You get the immediate impression that he is high in the camp’s hierarchy. He’s tall, with thick black hair, mustache and a small patch of hair in the shape of an upside down triangle on his chin. He’s wearing a red and black vest over a white shirt with thin grey stripes going along it, and a black hat.  


“Arthur,” says the man in a deep, rich voice. He doesn’t sound entirely happy.  


“Dutch,” Arthur greets him, throwing his cigarette on the ground as he stands up and stomps it out with his boot.  


“Who is this and what is she doing here?” Dutch demands. You look away shyly and decide it would be best to stay quiet. As soon as Strauss is done with your arm, you’ll grab Rain and be on your way. You remember that the majority of your own camp is still out by Aurora. You hope someone hasn’t stumbled onto it and taken your things. You take another drink, wishing you could be invisible.  


Arthur stands up and faces Dutch, who is slightly taller than Arthur, although Arthur is quite a bit larger in his build. “Dutch, this is Y/F/N. I ran into her after she’d been attacked by a cougar, figured we could get her fixed up and send her on her way.” You notice how he has omitted how the two of you truly met. Is he trying to protect you from his own camp? What is Arthur trying to do? Why is he doing so much for you, a complete stranger?  


Dutch copies Strauss’ reaction. “So, take her into Blackwater. They have a doctor there.”  


“Dutch, she can’t go to the doctor in that town.”  


“And how do you know she isn’t with the sheriff down there? For all we know, she’s a spy.”  


Arthur shakes his head. “Listen, Dutch, that sheriff wants her dead. She’s gotta bounty on her head, so she’s on the run. Look, as soon as she’s done here, she’ll be on her way.”  


“What’s going on?” A new man joins the conversation. He’s thin, with a long but kind face, white hair and grey eyes. He coughs slightly as he approaches Arthur and Dutch, who quickly explains the situation.  


“Well, sounds like she won’t be here long, Dutch,” says the long man after Dutch has explained why you’re here. “I doubt there’s much to worry about.”  
Dutch turns slightly and glares at you. It’s clear he doesn’t agree. You decide that now is probably the time to speak for yourself. You take another drink and gather your courage.  


“Mister, I promise I’ve nothing to do with any authorities. Mr. Morgan was just kind enough to offer Herr Strauss’s medical skills. As soon as he’s done, I’ll be on my way.”  


“And how can we trust that you won’t go running off to tell someone where we are?” You know instantly that these people are no more innocent than you are.  


“I don’t even know who you are. Besides, people are not my thing, sir. I was planning on going north anyways, far away from here.”  


You can tell he’s not convinced. You begin to fear what he is going to do with you now. Is he going to kill you? Cut out your tongue? Something worse?  


“No, I’ve got a better idea,” he says deeply. “After all, I figure you owe us something for the sutures and Strauss’s time in stitching you up. I think instead you should stay here with us and work off your debt.”  


Arthur and the tall man glance at him unsuredly, but it’s clear they aren’t going to challenge him.  


“Once you’re done with Herr Strauss, I’ll hand you off to Ms. Grimshaw. She’ll know what to do with you.”  


Dutch walks away, pulling a cigar out of his vest pocket. The tall man pats Arthur on the shoulder and then leaves to follow Dutch. You look down, away from Arthur. Strauss is nearly done with your arm, although it still smarts painfully.  


“You have any supplies in your saddle bags, Miss Y/L/N?” Arthur asks, pulling your eyes back to him. “I mean, as far as camping goes.”  


You shake your head, taking a last drink of the bottle. Your head is beginning to feel a little fuzzy, and you’ve never been fond of getting drunk. “It’s all back at Aurora.”  


He sighs heavily again, slanting his head slightly to the side, his thumbs tucked in behind his gun belt, then he nods. “A’right, I’ll go get yer things from the lake. Sounds like you might be stayin’ longer than ya planned.”  


“No, Mr. Morgan, please. You’ve done enough for me, you don’t need to go back there.”  


He smiles a bit. “Nah, the way I figure, ya wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me. Least I can do is go get yer things for ya.”  


Without another word, Arthur turns and approaches Boadicea, patting her neck fondly. You look back down at your arm, where Strauss is finishing with the last stitch. If you had continued to stare at Arthur, you would have seen him give a hesitant pat to Rain as well.  


Strauss cuts the line, finishing the final stitch. He grabs a new strip of cotton and tips what’s left of the whisky onto it, dabbing it once more over the delicate, tight stitching. The pain has lessened some, but you’re sure that’s more from the whisky in your belly than anything else. He stands up and goes to the back of the wagon once more, reappearing with a white cotton bandage. He quickly wraps up your arm and then ties it off.  


“There you are, miss. I suggest you go now to Dutch. Time for you to settle your debt,” he says with a lizard-like grin. You can’t help but dislike him for some reason. You thank him quickly and then stand up, looking around for where Dutch is. You spot him standing outside of a tent pitched beside a large tree, smoking his cigar. There’s a strikingly pretty woman standing close by with thick, red curly hair, holding a pocket mirror in front of her. You approach him nervously.  


Before you can open your mouth to speak, a tall woman with greying dark hair piled on top of her head marches towards you. She has a stern face, and she’s wearing a red shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck tucked into a flowing, black skirt. “Ah, you must be Y/F/N. Sounds like you’re mine for now. Follow me.”  


You glance at Dutch, who ignores you. You follow this woman, making the assumption that she is Ms. Grimshaw. She leads you to two wagons lined up with canvas stretched out over both of them, shading more bed rolls. Two girls sit beneath one of the canvas covers, while another sits upon her knees in front of a wash bin, scraping fabric across a wash board. The two girls sitting on crates glance at you with curious eyes. One of them is quite young with light brown hair and blue eyes. She’s wearing a rather pretty dress with a lovely necklace. She smiles uncertainly at you as she stitches up a shirt. The other girl is a blonde with challenging eyes, and she’s slightly thicker than the brunette. She’s also stitching up some canvas, and you can see between the two girls a pile of clothes and fabrics.  


“I assume you know how to stitch?” Grimshaw demands, turning to you. You nod. Stitching was something you had been taught to do at a very young age. Grimshaw gestures towards a crate for you to sit on. She then shoves a needle and thread into your hands and walks away. You grab an old shirt with a long tear in the seam of the sleeve. You thread your needle and then begin weaving it through the material, sewing the seam closed.  


“So you’re the one Arthur brought in?” says the blonde. You nod. “Hmm. Odd. Arthur rarely brings strangers to camp. Most of us got brought in by Dutch or Hosea.”  


You find this striking, since Dutch welcomed you with such a cold reception.  


“I’m Karen,” says the blonde.  


“And I’m Mary-Beth,” says the brunette with a sweet, light voice.  


The girl beneath the other canvas leans back to wave at you. She’s a young black girl with dark, intelligent eyes. “Hi. I’m Tilly.”  


You can’t help but smile a little. You are not used to people being so warm in welcoming you. “I’m Y/N.”  


Karen sighs heavily. “Wish I had a shot o’ whiskey. Might stop me from murderin’ old Grimshaw.”  


“Maybe later,” says Mary-Beth, and both girls laugh.  


Over the next couple of hours, you sit on the crate, stitching up clothes and other fabrics. Karen, Mary-Beth and Tilly have spent the time passing banter to one another, occasionally inviting you to join in, although you’re still a little reluctant and shy. Mary-Beth is keen to hear your backstory, although you choose not to divulge many details. You know nothing about these people in the camp. Although you’ve guessed by Dutch’s behavior that none of them are fond of the law, you don’t know what they’re pasts are like. You choose not to share the story of how you killed your family, making it sound like you just ran away from them instead and had to stay on your own since they were chasing you. You tell them you want to avoid the sheriff in Blackwater, too, since it’s likely your father will have asked for his and his deputies’ help in finding you.  


You hear the sound of a horse’s hooves and you glance up. Arthur is returning, your bedroll and tent strapped to his horse. A fat deer is slung over Boadicea’s hind quarters. He hitches her, and you can faintly hear him. “Not a bad haul there, girl,” he picks up the deer and heads over to another wagon with a large, round man with a thick, black mustache and a top hat leaning against the wheel.  


Grimshaw comes around the wagon and approaches you. “Miss Y/L/N, I think you can be done here. Why don’t you go and help Mr. Pearson?” she gestures to the round man talking with Arthur.  


You obediently tie off the canvas you had been stitching and place it in the pile between Karen and Mary-Beth. You say brief farewells and head off to Mr. Pearson. The wagon he’s leaning against lacks the same canvas as the other wagons, but there’s a bloodied table in front of him, which Arthur has placed the deer on. Behind the wagon is another table, this one clean except for some stalks of slightly withered celery. On the other side of the wagon is another table with an opened box of beer bottles, a wash bin and a barrel full of water with some old dishes in it.  


You approach Mr. Pearson slowly. He’s still speaking with Arthur, going on about something to do with the navy. You spot a tattoo of an anchor on his left hand as he scratches his cheek. The two men stop speaking as you approach and Pearson stares hard at you.  


“Who are you?” he asks in a gravelly voice.  


“She’s with me,” says Arthur. You’re not sure you quite like this, but say nothing. “Found her after she’d been attacked by a cougar. Brought her here to get patched up, but Dutch figures she should stay here, help out a little.”  


“I see,” says Pearson, his tone lightening.  


“Ms. Grimshaw said you could use some help,” you say quietly.  


“Well, she’s not wrong there. This stew ain’t gonna cook by itself.”  


“Make it a good one, Pearson, I’m starvin’,” Arthur says as he turns to walk away. He stops quickly and looks at you. “You doin’ a’right? How’s the arm?”  
You lift your right arm slightly, glancing at the tight bandaging. “Yeah, it’s better. Thank you again, Mr. Morgan.”  


“Please, miss, call me Arthur. Don’t work too hard, there.”  


You smile a bit. You step towards Pearson, who gives you the job of chopping up vegetables and throwing them into a large cast iron pot while he gets to skinning and butchering the deer.  


For the next few hours, you help Pearson chop the meat and vegetables and then to cook it all. By mid afternoon, it’s full to the brim with stew and he heaves the heavy pot off the table, carrying it towards a nearby fire with a large and heavy spit hanging over it. He connects the pot’s handle to a large hook hanging from the spit and then straightens up, yelling out. “A’right, everybody! Come and get your food while it’s still hot!”  


You gladly wipe your hands clean on an old rag by the washbin as you see people from around the camp get up and obediently line up, tin plates in their hands. Many of them glance at you curiously, but you do your best to keep your eyes away from them. After all, as soon as you’re allowed to, you will leave this camp and be on your own again.  


Arthur approaches you from behind the wagon. “Y/N, Lenny and I set up yer tent for ya.”  


“Arthur, you really didn’t need to do that,” you say, putting the rag back over the rim of the wash bin. “You know I am capable of setting up my own things, right?”  


He chuckles, holding up his hands. “Trust me, ma’am, I know. Just thought I’d help out a little.”  


“Think you’ve helped me enough,” you say kindly.  


“Trust me, it’ll be the last time,” he replies, smirking. He goes off to dish out some stew for himself. The line for it is still too long for your taste, and you’re not quite sure if you’d even be welcomed into the line. Ms. Grimshaw is nowhere in sight to give you a new job. You see in the background Rain still hitched. You walk to her, massaging the sore joints in your hands. You haven’t cut up that many things in a long time, and you’re hands have become stiff. You pat Rain’s neck fondly. You can see not too far off from the hitching post multiple horses of various breeds and colors. None of them are saddled or hitched, but are allowed to wander freely and graze. You decide to remove Rain’s saddle and bridle, brushing her quickly. You reach into one of the saddle bags and take out a hoof pick, lifting her heavy feet and cleaning them, something you’ve been neglecting for longer than you should have.  


Just as you set down her last hoof and pat her reassuringly, Ms. Grimshaw spooks you by speaking right behind you. You hadn’t even heard her approaching.  


“Come on, dear, come and get yourself something to eat,” she says gently. If she noticed you jump, she doesn’t mention it. You follow her gratefully, grabbing an empty tin plate beside the fire pit and dipping out some stew onto it. You take a hasty bite, you’re starving since this is the first thing you’ve eaten all day. Considering you know what went inside the stew, it tastes nothing like it. The meat is tough and gamey, and Pearson put in far too much salt so it’s just about all you can taste. Despite this, you swallow it down quickly and then toss your tin and spoon into the barrel full of water on top of the others’ tins.  


Ms. Grimshaw, upon seeing you finish your meal, approaches you once more. You’re sure she will set another job on you, despite the fact that the sun is beginning to set. The temperature hasn’t dropped, though, and you scratch your back hard, trying to relieve the itch caused by your own sweat.  


“Why don’t you come and sit by the fire, Ms. Y/F/N? I think you’re done for the day.”  


“Thank you, Ms. Grimshaw, but I think I’d like to go to my tent instead.”  


She shrugs her shoulders, indifferent, and walks off to the fire. You see her pick up a conversation with a young mexican man strumming at a guitar. The long, thin man you had met briefly while Strauss had been stitching you up sits on a rickety chair near the fire.  


You glance around the camp, searching for your tent. You spot it on the outskirts of the camp, close to the wagons where you had worked with Karen and Mary-Beth. You go to it, feeling rather tired. Your arm still has a dull ache, but at least the bandages haven’t soaked through. You bend down to enter your tent and see that Arthur was also kind enough to roll out your bedroll. Seeing as you have few other possessions you care about, the tent is empty aside from that. You sit down heavily inside the tent, folding your knees up to your chest and wrapping your left arm around them. You keep your right arm hanging loosely by your side, not wanting to put any pressure on the tender wound.  


You stare out at the camp you have unwillingly become part of. You can hear people talking, someone’s playing a harmonica and Ms. Grimshaw is singing to the tune, something about some buffalo gals. You hear a man talking from somewhere else in a thick Irish accent, something about his father, but you can’t hear much more than that.  


Despite everything, your own past and the fears that come from it, the instinct you’ve always held to not trust anyone, you can’t help but feel comfortable. The people you’ve met so far, they seem to be genuinely good and they seem to enjoy one another’s company. Part of you feels a slight sense of jealousy. You’ve never belonged anywhere, and no one has ever seemed to want you around. You lay down, wishing you could see the stars above the canvas. The sound of Ms. Grimshaw singing, the harmonica, and the cacophony of crickets lulls you to sleep.


	3. Finding Freedom

Warnings: blood, mild swearing

Word Count: ~8900

Nearly a month has passed since you were unwillingly incorporated into the camp, who you have come to learn call themselves the Van der Linde gang. From what you have gathered, just about every person has done something that has marked them as unwanted in society. Mary-Beth, for example, is a master at pick-pocketing, Karen is too, but she’s also gotten in trouble multiple times for public drunkenness. Tilly used to run with a group of men called the Foreman Brothers, a particularly nasty gang from what she made it sound like.  


You’ve met most, if not all, of the gang members at this point, and it seems that most of them do their part to keep things running, working together. The exception to this are some members like Uncle, an older man with a thick beard who lays around all day, occasionally entertaining the others with his banjo. The red headed woman you had seen in Dutch’s tent your first day, Molly O’Shea, seems to hang around his tent, often staring at her pocket mirror or writing poems.  


You glance around you, seeing some of the members you’ve come to know, while you cut up some vegetables for Pearson’s stew.  


Bill, a slightly overweight man with a thick beard and a habit of getting drunk, tends to be racist, particularly towards the mexican man who you first saw playing the guitar named Javier, and a young black boy named Lenny, who can’t be more than nineteen. Bill also occasionally antagonizes the man who is half black and half Indian you learned to be named Charles. When Bill isn’t drunk, though, he’s tolerable.  


There’s also a pair of brothers. They are highly similar in looks and age, so much so you’re not sure if they’re twins. Everyone calls them the Callendar boys, Mac and Davey. They tend to be a bit obnoxious, particularly when they’ve had too much to drink, but they’ve left you alone so far, preferring to pull their antics with each other and a red haired man in his early twenties.  


There is one person, though, you have disliked from the beginning. His name is Micah Bell, with a large blond walrus mustache and a heavy beer belly, and he always wears a broad-rimmed white hat. He seems to delight in insulting people, no matter if he’s drunk or sober. He’s hardest on the men of color in the camp and the women, who he enjoys making feel uncomfortable. When you had first met him, you had been scrubbing away at some of the camps’ dirty clothing in the wash bin near Tilly’s bedroll. He had come up unexpectedly behind you and run his fingers through your hair, startling you. When you pulled away quickly to see who had the nerve to touch you, he gave you an oily grin. “Always makes me smile to see a woman on her knees,” he said, making you want to cringe.  


“Leave her alone,” demanded Karen, stumbling over with a bottle in her hand. Micah put his hands up, stepping away.  


“I was just sayin’ hi to our newest member,” he said unconvincingly. After that, you made it a point to keep away from him.  


Aside from these few people, though, most of the others in the gang are pleasant. You’ve come to find the long man who spoke to Dutch while you were getting your arm stitched up is named Hosea. You discovered that he, Dutch, and Arthur are the original gang members, as well as Dutch’s best friend. You’ve seen him on a couple of occasions sitting beside young Jack, trying to teach him to read, something you feel slightly jealous of.  


Another member you have come to enjoy the company of, although not entirely voluntarily, is Sean, a red-haired Irish man with a heavy accent. He couldn’t be more than 22 years old, and while he can be arrogant, he is undeniably funny, light-hearted, and quick with his mouth. He could take any situation and find something to joke about it.  


Yesterday, you had been properly introduced to the man named Charles while you had been scrubbing a make-shift round table. The only time you had seen him previously had been from distances, so you were taken a bit by surprise by just how large he was. He had just grabbed a plate of stew, the only thing Pearson seems to know how to make, and had come to the table to eat just as you went to scrub it. Other than him asking you to excuse him while he ate, he said nothing, and neither did you. The silence was comfortable, however, and you got the sense that this man could be a mountain in a storm: dependable, steady, unmovable.  


You stand at the wash bin by Pearson’s wagon, scrubbing away at the dirty tin plates and spoons. You see, out of the corner of your eye, someone approaching you. You turn your head and see that it’s Dutch, who hasn’t spoken to you since your first meeting.  


“Hello, Y/N,” he says calmly. “I think it’s time you take up guard duty.” You recognize he isn’t asking you a question, so you straighten up and dry your hands on the rag hanging over the side of the barrel. Dutch calls over to someone else. “Lenny! Come and show young Y/N how we guard this camp.” Dutch walks away without another word or glance.  


Lenny approaches you. You’ve only met him once, a few nights back sitting around the campfire. All you knew about him was that both his parents had been slaves before the Civil War and he had killed the men who murdered his father. For this act, he had to live as an outlaw, despite not even being 20 years old yet. He smiles warmly as you turn to him.  


“Sounds like Dutch is finally thinkin’ you might be okay to act as lookout,” he says, gesturing for you to follow him. He leads you through the trees of the camp, just before they thin out on the plains leading to Stillwater Creek. Karen stands there, holding a carbon repeater. She glances back at you. “Thank God, ‘bout time someone else came to do this,” she says, shoving the gun into Lenny’s hands and walking back to camp. He turns back to you, holding the rifle to you.  


“You know how to use one of these?” he asks.  


“I think so,” you say. You’d never shot anything bigger than your sawed-off shotgun. “But maybe could you go over the basics?”  


“Of course. You just have to hold it like this,” he says, placing the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and holding it up straight so he can look through the sights. “Just remember to always pull the trigger on empty lungs, and then make sure you prepare for the kick, or it’ll knock you off your feet.”  


He smiles as you take the rifle.  


“What do I do if I see something I need to worry about?” you ask.  


“Oh, I almost forgot. If you see someone comin’ who ain’t part of the gang, just shoot this three times in the air. You don’t need to walk around the entire camp, Charles and Sean are guarding those spaces,” he says, beckoning to two of the opposite rings bordering the camp. He tips his hat to you with a friendly smile, and then he leaves. You had forgotten to ask how long you need to do this, but you figure in a few hours someone will come relieve you. At least you’ll have some time to be alone.  


In the past month, Dutch has forbidden you to even step out of sight of anyone in the gang, not trusting you won’t run off. It’s been making you stir crazy since you’re used to being solitary and constantly on the move. The times you’ve gone to visit Rain, he or Hosea have always come to make sure you weren’t saddling her. You’ve done your best to be obedient and thorough in the work Grimshaw, Pearson and the others have set you to. Perhaps Dutch is beginning to trust you. He must be since he was the one who suggested you take guard duty.  


You suddenly hear someone close by singing in a rough, gravelly voice, something about being frisky after having drank too potent whisky. You turn your head and see it’s the man everyone calls Reverend Swanson, a thin man with greying ginger hair, a thick mustache and red, squinty eyes. Although he wears the clothes of a reverend, his behavior and speech suggest he’s the farthest thing from one. From what you’ve learned about him, he has a severe dependency on morphine and alcohol, both of which he hates with a passion but cannot gather the strength to fight.  


He stumbles drunkenly towards you. His eyes are crossed and watery, you’re not sure he can even see you. You raise up a hand to try and grab his attention to prevent him wandering too far from the camp, but his foot catches on the root of a tree, causing him to stumble and fall. You wait for a second for him to pick himself up; instead you hear him begin to snore. You approach him cautiously and prod him with your foot, which does nothing to cause him to even stir.  


You hear, coming from the plains, the sound of a horse trotting towards you. You look and see the familiar form of Boadicea, the palomino paint, with Arthur upon her back. He is the one you have grown closest to since your arrival, even though he’s been gone for most of the month. The few times he has been in the camp, he’s always made it a point to come and check on you, making sure you have been settling in okay. You can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him, even though you have to remind yourself that if he hadn’t come looking to pick up the bounty on your head, you’d still be out there on your own. Still, the company of these people has been a relieving change of settings.  


“Again, Swanson?” Arthur asks in his husky voice, pulling Boadicea to a stop just beside you. You stand up and gesture to the unconscious reverend.  


“He just wandered over here and fell. I don’t know if I can pick him up or drag him back.”  


“Ah, it ain’t nothin’, I’ll do it,” Arthur says, dismounting his horse. He bends down and picks up Swanson in one swift movement, throwing his limp form over his horse’s haunches. He turns back to you.  


“So, Dutch finally let you outta his sight?” he smiles. You look down and suppress your own.  


“I guess so. Guess he’s finally figured I ain’t too much of a threat.”  


“Well, good. Just be prepared to get bored out here.” He goes to step back into his stirrup before he turns back to you. “Say, maybe in a day or two, you and I could go huntin’ together.”  


“You and me?” you ask, feeling uncertain.  


“Sure, why not? I bet Dutch will let you go out, s’long as yer with me.”  


He mounts Boadicea and looks at you expectantly. You cannot stop the small smile forming on your lips. “I think I’d like that.”  


“Sounds good. I’ll let you know when.”  


He prods his horse’s side and goes to the camp, Swanson bouncing unconscious on Boadicea’s hind quarters as he goes. You turn back, staring into the open plains, feeling optimistic.  


The next few hours you spend guarding end up being perhaps some of the most boring of your life. You’ve spent plenty of time in the past doing mindless tasks and chores, but the majority of them allowed you to do the thoughtless activities while using your hands. This chore, however, requires you to use your eyes, always prepared, as you hold the repeater in your hands.  


Across the plain that lies before you just beyond the cover of the trees, a winding dirt road goes across your view. Every once in a while, you see a rider, a stage coach, or a wagon roll by, but none of the riders or drivers even glance in your direction. At least you’re in the shade of the trees, away from the unforgiving sun.  


Although it’s early April, the air and heat have started to become nearly intolerable. Of course, you’re used to this, having spent your entire life living along the borders of West Elizabeth and New Austin. When you had first run away after killing your family, you had headed deeper into New Austin, towards the more desert regions, where the cacti grow tall and the rivers run spare. However, the hot sun proved to be too much even for you.  


It’s now late afternoon, the sun’s fingertips grazing the far horizon. You can tell by the scents wafting from camp that Pearson is nearly done with the stew, not that you’re particularly excited for dinner. It’s been the same every night since you’ve arrived, and you get the feeling it’s been that way long before you turned up. Over-salted, under-spiced stew.  


You hear the sound of footsteps and you turn. It’s Bill, looking sour and angry. You secretly wonder if he’s been drinking again. He stops close to you.  
“Guess I’m takin’ yer spot,” he snarls at you.  


You hand him the repeater and quickly shuffle off before he can shoot off another angry remark. As you follow the path that leads into the camp, you pass by a small plant poking out of the ground you know from experience to be oregano. You bend down quickly and strip a branch of the leaves, stuffing them inside of the pocket in your jeans, figuring they couldn’t make Pearson’s stew any worse than it already is.  


As you enter the site, which you learned a few weeks’ back is called Bison Point, you see the familiar line of folk leading to the cast iron pot of stew, hanging over the fire. You take the spot at the end behind Abigail, wiping the sweat from your forehead. She’s close to your age, perhaps a year or two younger, and she has a small boy named Jack, who is about four or five years old. From what you’ve been able to gather, he is the son of another gang member named John Marston, who seems to have little interest in helping to raise him. It’s clear that Abigail is fiercely bitter about this, and it’s not unusual for them to be heard shouting at one another outside the camp.  


She turns and smiles at you. “How was guard duty?”  


You huff, “Glad it’s over.” She chuckles.  


Jack dashes over to his mother, holding a small book open in his tiny hands. “Mama,” he greets her. She greets him, running her hands through his light hair. He holds the book to her and points at a word. “What does that say?” he asks.  


“I don’t know, sweetie, I can’t read,” she says. She turns to you. “Y/N, can you tell Jack what that word is?”  


Jack turns his brown eyes to you, holding the book to you. You look at the printed words on the page, but they might as well be chicken scratches. You never learned to read, but not for lack of desire. You’d always wished you could, but your father had always been adamant that reading was not something a woman should do, among other things.  


“I don’t know,” you shyly admit. “I can’t read either.”  


Abigail smiles lightly at you. “That’s a’right. Jack, go ask Hosea.”  


“But he’ll make me read more, mama,” Jack argues.  


She chuckles, “Just go do it, you silly boy.”  


Jack moans unhappily, turning away and skipping off. You’re thankful that Abigail does not mention the fact that you cannot read. Of course, it helps since she also admitted she doesn’t have the skill.  


The line quickly moves, and within moments you’re grabbing a plate of stew. You head off to the square table you’ve seen Hosea and Tilly playing dominoes on. Small, faded spots of blood dot the table from when Lenny, Micah, and occasionally Arthur have played Five Finger Fillet. Susan, Karen and Arthur sit there now, eating the unappetizing stew. You take the last available seat. Arthur sits at the head to your right, and Susan on the left.  


You set your plate down, greeting the others. You reach into your pocket and pull out the oregano leaves, sprinkling a few into your stew. You see the other three eyeballing it, and you suddenly wonder if it was the smartest to doctor your food in front of them.  


“Is that oregano?” Susan asks. You nod your head.  


“Well, if you’re gonna bring it out,” says Karen. “You better be willing to share some.”  


You grin and hand over the remainder to all of them. Arthur grunts his thanks as he dips the leaves into the stew. You take a bite of yours, the flavor slightly enhanced by the new spice. At least the salt is less noticeable.  


You finish your meal and then get up to leave.  


“Here,” says Arthur, beckoning for you to hand him your tin. You hesitate and then hand him your dishes. He takes Karen’s and Susan’s, as well, and then takes them to the wash bin by Pearson’s wagon. You take a look around Bison Point, and you spot some of the other members of the gang sitting around the main campfire. You decide to join them, taking a seat on the ground.  


Charles sits upon a large log, fiddling with some arrows and oleander. Javier sits on the ground in a make-shift tent, strumming lightly on his guitar. You curl your legs in front of you, listening to the pleasant music. Javier begins to sing, but the words are unrecognizable to you, since they are all in his native tongue. You gaze into the fire, allowing his delicate voice to take you into a daze. After a few moments, he ends with a flourish of his guitar.  


“You sound good,” you compliment him.  


“Ah, I love that one,” he replies. He begins flicking his fingers over the chords, playing a new melody, but he does not accompany them with words.  


Hosea approaches and sits himself in the rickety chair by the fire. You haven’t had many interactions with him, but he has a very paternal nature. Even when he’s snapping at some of the members, like how you’d seen him to do to Sean a few days back, you can tell he genuinely tries to look out for the welfare of everyone in camp. He coughs slightly as he settles into the chair.  


“So,” he says, turning to you. “Young Jack tells me you can’t read.”  


You look down, suddenly embarrassed. You always wished you could read. To be able to do so would allow you to learn about the world. You’d always wanted to be able to expand your mind, to learn about new things. Not only that, you know reading offers immeasurable forms of escape. You hated not being able to read. In the past, if you had to look at a map or some other item with words, you always had to ask someone to tell you what it said. Almost every time you had to do this, the people you’d ask would give you similar looks of superiority, as though it were your fault you had never learned how to do such a seemingly simple task.  


“No need to feel bad, Y/N,” Hosea tells you. “I doubt it’s your fault you can’t. Most folks here weren’t able to read, in fact some still can’t. Tell ya what, why don’t you let me teach you?”  


You gaze at him, unsure if he’s being serious. “You’d really waste your time with someone like me?”  


“Sure, I don’t see why not, s’long as you try,” he says encouragingly. “After all, Dutch and I taught most of these kids how to do it. Even young Arthur here.” He gestures as the man approaches the fire.  


Arthur stops and loops his thumbs into his gun belt. “Yeah, though apparently I ain’t as good as Marston, it seems.”  


“Enough of that, Arthur,” Hosea leans forward. “Readin’ ain’t a competition.”  


Arthur just shrugs and sits beside Charles, pulling out a cigarette. He looks over at you.  


“Ya gonna be ready to leave tomorrow?” he asks, puffing. “Think we’re gonna head out early.”  


You nod. Your hunting gear, bow, arrows and hunting knife, are packed with your saddle. You’ll pack some spare clothes into your saddle bag before going to bed.  


“Good, just make shoar ya pack enough. Might be gone a coupla days.”  


A few moments pass by in silence, the only sound to be heard are the crickets singing while Javier strums the guitar. Arthur takes a final drag on his cigarette, throwing it into the fire. Charles’s wraps up the last of his oleander arrows. Then he speaks. It’s the first time you’ve heard him say more than a few words.  


“My father,” he begins in his deep, melancholic voice. “Was a runaway slave. He… and many like him, joined my mother’s tribe. He met her and one thing lead to another, and then I came along. Things were… never easy for any of us. I don’t really remember much. I remember we had to leave the tribe, and it was just the three of us. One day, some men grabbed my mother and took her away. We never saw her again, so my father turned to whisky. When I was fourteen, I just… took off. Been on my own ever since. I guess I… I’m just tryin’ to find a place in this world. Most people are born knowin’, but I never have. Known where I belong, I mean. I don’t do this very much… I’m sorry I’m not very good at it.”  


Charles ends his speech somewhat awkwardly. Javier has stopped playing the guitar, and the songs made by the natural world fills the air. Arthur scratches his chin and Hosea leans forward in the chair, making it creak slightly. Charles, looking as though he wished he’d never spoken, pulls out a harmonica and begins playing it. You remember, from a long time ago, hearing your grandmother playing the same instrument. Those were your favorite days, filled with golden sunlight, green meadows and honey. How you wish you could have more of them.  


The sky above the fire is dark, the only light coming from the stars and the sliver of moon. You lean your head back to stare into the brilliant hues of gold and purples that form the Milky Way.  


You hear Hosea stir. “Well, think I’m going to call it a night.” He turns to you with a kind gleam in his eye. “I guess, if you’d like, we can take up reading lessons when Arthur brings you back.”  


You smile. “I’d like that, thank you.”  


He nods and leaves. You take his action as your cue to get up and take yourself to bed, especially if you’ll be spending the next few days alone with Arthur, a prospect you’re slightly nervous about. It’s not that you’re worried he will try to do something. You’ve been made aware during the past month that he has quite some weight within the camp, and even though he was the one who found and brought you here, the idea of him even wanting to spend time with you is somewhat overwhelming.  


You still can’t understand why he has been so kind to you. From the very beginning, after realizing you had a difficult past, he’s shown you mercy and compassion. You had long expected him to stop doing so, yet here he was taking you out of camp to go hunting. Of course, you know his treatment towards you is not unique. You’ve seen him acting sweet and kindly towards the others in camp. He acts as a mentor to Lenny, gives writing advice to Mary-Beth, brings Jack candy from his trips, and he seems to enjoy listening to you and the other girls talk while you do chores.  


You lay down in your bed roll, still thinking about the complexity of Arthur’s character. As you begin to fall asleep, you hear the sound of the horses in the distance snorting sleepily, and the song of the campfires crackling merrily away.

You’re awakened by the sound of Grimshaw snarling at one of the other girls, probably Karen. You’re secretly grateful that your day has been dedicated to hunting with Arthur, it’ll give her a reason to leave you alone. Although Grimshaw can be motherly, she can become quite nasty and demanding if she sees anyone of the girls or yourself hesitate for even a second. You recall a few weeks ago when she pounced on Mary-Beth for reading a book for five minutes. She had grabbed her by the ear and roared at her, scaring the poor girl as she sat on her crate, knitting away with her head hung low. Despite the fact that you are no stranger to standing up for yourself, and even killing those who still push your boundaries, you decided then and there to never cross Susan Grimshaw.  


You sit up, yawning heavily and rubbing your eyes. You check your satchel one last time, making sure all the essentials are packed one last time. Extra pairs of clothes, cans of food, dried meat, and several strips of bandages just in case you have another incident like the one with the cougar. You glance at your arm, which in nearly healed. The bandage and stitches were removed weeks ago, and all that’s left now is a thin, red line. You know it will become a scar, but it will be no different than your others. At least it isn’t as ugly as the one on the back of your right shoulder.  


You leave your tent, hauling the heavy satchel out. You head over to Rain, who snorts happily on seeing you. Setting the satchel down, you reach into the bag on the saddle thrown over the hitching post, grabbing her brush. You groom her quickly and dig out her feet, then you bridle and saddle her. You give her a final pat on the neck after you throw the satchel over her back, strapping it down tightly. You glance over to Arthur’s tent and find that he’s still fast asleep. Great. You’re ready to go and he hasn’t even stirred yet. You look for Boadicea and see that she’s unsaddled, grazing peacefully next to Dutch’s white arabian named the Count.  


You head back over to the main campfire where Pearson sets down the stew at night. The fire is open, nothing hanging over it. You approach the tall, narrow iron kettle next to it, pouring out some of the black coffee. You sip it slowly, crossing your other arm around your middle. Every few moments, you glance over to Arthur’s tent, seeing if the outlaw has even moved. You finish your cup, and still nothing from him.  


You wish he’d hurry and get up already. You’re anxious to get out of the camp for the first time in a month, wanting to feel some of the freedom you used to have for the past year. You go to Pearson’s wagon, dipping your tin cup into the wash bin, rinsing it.  


You leave to go back to the campfire, trying to think of something to occupy your time, glancing over to his tent. He’s sitting up, writing in his journal. You grab an empty, clean tin cup from Pearson’s wagon, pouring another cup of coffee. Nervously, you approach his tented wagon.  


“Mornin’,” you greet. He looks up. Upon seeing you, he closes his journal casually, placing it into his satchel. He returns your greeting.  


“I thought you might like some coffee,” you say, offering him the steaming cup.  


“Well, that’s mighty kind,” he replies, taking it and lifting it up slightly to show his thanks. He sips from it as you stand there somewhat awkwardly.  


“So, where are you thinkin’ of going?” you ask as he drains his drink.  


“Was thinkin’ of going west, towards a lake called Don Julio. Lotta easy pickin’s out there.”  


You nod. He stands up and you offer to take his cup back, which he thanks you for. You go and return it to the washbin, turning back and seeing Arthur is already at Boadicea’s side, grooming her. You go to your buckskin mare, feeding her a carrot while he saddles up his palomino paint. He turns to you when she’s fitted tight.  


“A’right, let’s go,” he mounts her, and you follow his lead.  


You both guide your horses out of the camp, Arthur greeting Lenny, telling him you’ll both be gone a few days. The two of you ride west towards Hennigan’s Stead. Despite the fact that it’s only mid-morning, the sun beats down angrily on you. Luckily, you already have your broad-rimmed hat on, shading you from the worst of it.  


You follow your companion down the winding, dirt trail. A small chasm separates you from Hennigan’s Stead, and you follow the trail down into it. After following the chasm south for a few moments, the trail leads upwards and out. You urge Rain with your heels to go up it, she snorts slightly as she climbs. Boadicea ahead swishes her tail.  


You arrive on the fairly level plains of Hennigan’s Stead, somehow drier and hotter than Bison Point, despite its proximity. You look to your left, to the south, and spot the wide San Luis River, and beyond that the cliffs that form the border of Mexico. You turn back to face the front, staring at Arthur’s broad back.  


“Thanks again for offering to take me out,” you shout ahead.  


“S’no problem,” he hollers back.  


“I’m surprised Dutch didn’t try to stop me from heading out,” you confide after a moment.  


“It ain’t for lacka tryin’ on his part,” Arthur warns. “He weren’t too happy when I told him I was takin’ ya out.”  


You shuffle in your saddle, slightly worried.  


“But,” he continues, oblivious to your movements. “I told him I won’t let ya outta my sight. That bein’ the case, don’t try wanderin’ off.”  


The two of you fall into silence once more, and you don’t press it further. You can’t believe that, even after a month of hard work, no questions or complaints, Dutch still won’t give you a chance.  


Arthur slows Boadicea down to a walk, giving her a break in the hot air. You follow his lead, patting Rain’s sweaty neck.  


“So,” Arthur calls back with a lighter tone. “Ya thinkin’ of movin’ on when ya can, or are ya gonna stick with us?”  


You hesitate, thinking on this. You’ve thought about it a few times. Part of you would like to move on, to be on your own again, mostly after the times you’ve been harrassed by Micah or Bill during one of his drunken nights. To be on your own schedule, to go where you please. On the other hand, you’ve greatly come to enjoy, and even appreciate, the company of many of the others, particularly the other women in the camp. Plus, you’ve enjoyed having a nearly nightly serenade by Charles and his harmonica, Javier and his guitar, Pearson and his accordion, or Uncle and his camp songs.  


“I ain’t too sure,” you admit finally.  


“Well, just know yer work’s appreciated,” Arthur calls back. “Don’t think yer aware of how much Grimshaw talks about ya. Think she worries about ya, bein’ out there on yer own.”  


This takes you by surprise. You never thought any of the others would take notice of your efforts, especially Grimshaw.  


“Just wish Dutch would notice,” you admit, instantly regretting opening your mouth.  


Arthur huffs. “Ah, don’t worry ‘bout him, he’ll come ‘round. Just think ‘bout it when yer given the chance to leave or stay. Think if ya wanted to, ya could find a place with us real easy.”  


Arthur suddenly pulls Boadicea to a stop, and you stop your mount as well. He points to your right.  


“Ya see that? Pronghorns,” he says.  


You follow his finger, spotting a small herd of does with one or two bucks not too far away, grazing in the brush. Arthur leads Boadicea off the road. He grabs his bow and dismounts, preparing to stalk the animals. You follow his lead, notching an arrow into your own bow.  


The two of you make some distance between each other, stalking the herd. Pronghorns, you know from experience, are fast and easily startled animals. One wrong move and the entire herd will bolt. You expertly step over the dried and dead brush littering the ground, doing as much as possible to be silent. The herd is now only 10 yards ahead, and they’re all grazing, completely unaware. You glance over at Arthur, who’s looking at the herd from his distance. He doesn’t look to you.  


Taking your own lead, you step ahead a bit more and set your eye on a particularly large and handsome buck. You hunker behind a large and somewhat smelly bush. Readjusting your arrow slightly, you stand up and aim for a spot on his neck just below his head. You want to damage his pelt as little as possible. You pull your arm and let go.  


The arrow aims true and hits your mark just as planned. Arthur’s arrow follows, burying itself into a doe’s eye. Both animals fall, already dead, and the rest of the herd disappears.  


You approach your kill along with Arthur. He glances at the buck you shot, smiling.  


“Impressive,” he says as you pull your hunting knife out. You smile back.  


The two of you get to work skinning the pronghorns, delicately separating the skin from the muscle. Once the skins have been removed and the carcasses butchered, you both throw the pelts over your horses’ hindquarters.  


The next several hours, you and Arthur hunt this way, slowly making your way to Lake Don Julio. The sun is beginning to set, turning the yellow horizon to blue waves, when you finally see the lake. It’s surrounded by tall, yellow grasses, green, thick brush, and tall proud cacti. A few cliffs and hills look onto the lake, casting their reflections. On the south end of the lake, you see a small cabin, which seems abandoned. Arthur stops, looking back at you.  


“We’ll camp here a day or two, then we’ll go back.”  


You nod, staring out over the lake. You can see fish leaping out of the water, snapping at the insects flitting over the surface in the setting sun.  


Arthur leads you to one edge of the lake and dismounts, pulling out his own makeshift tent. You’ve left yours back at camp, only taking your bedroll out. You wish now you’d brought your own in case it rains, although you doubt it will. Arthur begins setting his up, unrolling his own bag. He glances at you, finding the most level spot of grass and dirt you can find to set your bedroll up.  


“Ya shoar ya wanna sleep in the open?” he asks.  


“I’ll be fine. Ain’t the first time I’ve slept under the open sky.”  


He shrugs. “Yer welcome to take my tent, if ya want. I don’t mind sleepin’ out here.”  


“Arthur, please, you’ve shown me enough kindness since I met you,” you say, more harshly than you meant to. “Don’t worry about me,” you end with a calmer tone.  


Arthur looks into your eyes with his brilliant blues, and you can’t quite read his face. You look back at the lake, wishing he’d look away. After a moment, he does without saying a word. He starts wandering the small campsite, looking for wood to begin setting up a fire. You take up his lead and do the same.  


After a few moments, a small fire has been started in a crude, stone circle Arthur made. He sets up a standing spit with a grate attached to it, much more civilized than your own. The two of you kneel down beside the fire and begin pulling out some of the meat you’ve gathered during the day. The sun has settled down beneath the horizon, the only signs left of it are the brilliant oranges and reds stretching into the sky.  


You and Arthur sit in silence, which suits you. He’s a naturally quiet man, and you are not much for mindless speech yourself.  


Once you’ve cooked and eaten enough, you go off to your bedroll. You slip into it, taking off your hat. You lay on your back, staring at the marvelous night sky above you.  


“Lemme know if ya need anything,” Arthur says, heading for his own tent, pulling your eyes to him. You nod, and he goes inside. The two of you fall asleep without another word, the fire still burning brightly between you. 

The morning light comes, kissing your eyelids and forcing them open. You sit up, slightly stiff. Turns out there had been a large rock where you had set your bedroll just under the surface of dirt, digging into your back.  


You glance to the tent across the fire, and the man inside is still lying on his back, fast asleep. You stand up, stretching. You go to the fire and grab Arthur’s percolator, pouring yourself some coffee. You take out a strip of pronghorn meat and a can of peaches, eating them quickly.  


You go to Rain and pat her neck, lost in your own thoughts. You hear Arthur stirring in his tent. You turn and see him standing, tucking in the pieces of his blue shirt that have come out and readjusting his suspenders.  


“I’m going to go hunt close by. I won’t wander too far,” you say, grabbing your bow and quiver of arrows. Arthur waves his hand sleepily, allowing you to go.  


You leave Rain behind, wandering over the slight rise and away from the lake. You stare at the wide, hot plains stretching before you, dotted with cacti. Beyond them, in the far off distance, purple mountains reach to the sky, which seems somehow closer.  


For the next hour or so, you wander the area, always keeping the lake in your sight. You take down another pronghorn, a lone coyote, and even a few lizards and one particularly large rattlesnake. You return to the camp with your haul, throwing the pelts over Rain’s back, adding to the others. You spot Arthur standing on the edge of the lake, a long fishing pole arching over the water. You approach him quietly.  


“Getting’ anything good?” you ask him. He turns to you.  


“Few bass and bluegill,” he grunts. “Ya gonna join me?”  


For some reason, your stomach knots at his invitation. You look down, feeling embarrassed again.  


“I don’t know how,” you admit, wringing your hands.  


“Ain’t no shame in that,” he says, pulling in his line quickly, throwing the pole over his shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll teach ya.”  


You stare at him, expecting him to announce he was joking. He does no such thing, however, and offers you the pole. You step forward and take it from his large, tough hand.  


You take his spot and stand there awkwardly for a moment, not knowing the first thing about fishing. Luckily, Arthur takes the lead.  


“First thing, ya gotta bait the line,” he says, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a bit of cheese. You wrinkle your nose, being able to smell it’s pungent scent from your spot. He grabs the end of the line and shows you how to slide and place the cheese over the barbed hook.  


“A’right, now just swing the pole over yer shoulder, and throw it over. Make shoar ya let the line go when ya throw it.”  


You follow his instructions, aware of how close he is. You’re a bit worried about accidentally hooking him, but you toss the line over your shoulder like he said. You expect the hook to soar over your shoulder, but instead it plops a meager two feet in front of you.  


“What the…” you start to say.  


Arthur chuckles. “You released the line too soon, now ya gotta snag in it.”  


You look at the line still attached to your reel and see a large knot.  


“Crap,” you sigh.  


“S’a’right, we can get it fixed.”  


Arthur instructs you to keep a hold of the pole while he works away at the knot. For the next several moments, he tugs and pulls at the line, eventually working it loose.  


“There, try again.”  


You readjust your feet, determined to try again. Arthur steps back from you, giving you room to swing the pole. You do so, paying more attention to when to release the line. You toss the line, releasing it just as the pole arches over your shoulder, and watch the hook and bait fly a few yards from you, landing in the water with a splash.  


“There ya go,” Arthur says, taking a step away. “Now, ya just have to wait. If ya feel the line just gently pulling, that’s just a fish nibblin’. If ya feel a good tug, that means ya gotta fish on the line, and that’s when ya reel it in.”  


You nod your head and set in to wait. Arthur goes and sits himself upon a large rock, pulling out a strip of jerky, cutting it with his knife.  


Time passes slowly, and it seems like nothing is interested in your bait. You’re just about to turn to Arthur and say so when you suddenly feel something gently pulling on your line.  


“Arthur?” you call softly, unsure. He stands up, approaching.  


“Just nibblin’, don’t pull yet,” he instructs. A few seconds pass, and whatever is on the end of the line takes a hard bite, pulling your line and causing the pole to bend.  


“Good, now pull back hard,” Arthur tells you. You pull the pole up, and you can feel the fish jerking hard. You begin to reel it in quickly.  


“Slow. If ya pull it in too fast, yer gonna lose it.”  


You slow down your reeling pace.  


“When he fights, stop reeling, or he’ll break yer line,” Arthur says right as the fish begins struggling hard. You obey him, and soon the fish tires out, going limp. You pull it closer to shore.  


After a moment of pulling and fighting, you reel in your quarry. A decently sized bluegill comes out of the water, and you grab it, struggling slightly to keep a hold of its slippery body.  


“That’s good,” Arthur praises, patting you on the back. You feel a certain warmth flood to the spot he touched. Perhaps you’re just not used to being touched anymore.  


Arthur gently places his hands around yours, further wrapping the squirming fish. You try to hide the blush in your cheeks under your hat as he shows you how to remove the hook from the fish’s throat. The hook comes out with ease, and Arthur releases your hands.  


“Is he big enough, ya think?” you ask.  


The outlaw looks at the fish and then at you. “Looks like he’s a good size, but ya decide.”  


You turn and place the fish in your satchel, wrapping it carefully in some cloth. You turn back to Arthur and offer his pole back to him.  


“Thank you for teaching me to fish.”  


“Well, keep goin’,” he commands, smiling as he offers you more cheese. You rebait the hook and then turn back to the water as he takes his seat back on the rock. “Ya can catch ‘nough food for days this way,” he says, cutting another strip of jerky as you throw the line out again.  


You cast out a few more times, passing the time in comfortable silence. Arthur pulls out his journal behind you, scribbling away inside of it. You look behind you and see over your shoulder that he’s drawing, but can’t tell what he’s drawing since it’s upside down.  


“I didn’t know you could draw,” you say.  


“Well, I don’t know if ya could really call it drawin’,” he says, etching a few more lines delicately.  


You turn back to the water, gazing at the place your lure landed and still remains untouched. “I never learned to draw. Don’t know if I ever held a pencil in my life, now I think about it.”  


He looks up at you with an odd expression that you don’t see.  


“Well, maybe Hosea can add writin’ to yer readin’ lessons.”  


“Was he the one who taught you to draw?”  


“A little, but most I learned on my own.”  


“Oh. Could you teach me how?”  


You look back at him and he looks at you, almost as though he’s measuring you.  


“You don’t have to,” you hastily add. “Sorry I asked.”  


“S’a’right. Shoar, I’ll teach ya.”  


Just then, your line jerks with the pulling of another fish, and you’re distracted from his promise. You reel in the fish, finding it be a bass no more than six inches long. You unhook it and toss it back into the water. You pull out a new glob of cheese and place it on the hook, throwing it into the water, settling down to wait again.  


“Can I ask ya a question?” Arthur asks, sketching away.  


“Sure,” you respond.  


“That bounty poster from Blackwater. Said ya was wanted for killin’ yer husband and parents. Did you actually kill ‘em?”  


You sigh heavily. “Yes.”  


“Why?”  


You don’t speak for several moments. You’ve never told anyone why you did it. Part of the reason is because you doubt anyone would ever understand that you felt the need to kill them, you could have easily just run away. The other reason you’ve never spoken of it is because you’re ashamed. Ashamed you were so weak for so long, you let them do those things to you. You let them tear your life apart, forcing you under their boots.  


“Oh, you wouldn’t wanna hear that story,” you finally answer. “It’s long and boring. I just… needed to be free, and the only way to get that was to kill them. I don’t wanna burden you with my crap.”  


“No one’s past should be a burden, Y/N,” Arthur says, closing his journal and putting it back into his satchel. “The only time it’s a burden is when ya try and bury it.”  


“Trust me, Arthur. You’re better off not knowing. Besides, you don’t need to take my burdens, you’ve helped me enough.”  


Arthur shrugs his shoulders. You can tell he wants to keep asking, but he must decide it’s not worth it since he doesn’t bring it up again.  


The next while, you continue to fish. At some point, Arthur gets up and gets his bow, wandering over a nearby ridge to go and hunt. You decide to join him, so you call him over.  


“Hey Arthur, how do you store this pole?”  


He comes over to you, swinging his bow over his back. He takes the pole from your hand, lightly brushing yours, making your skin tingle. He collapses the pole quickly, stuffing it into his satchel.  


Arthur turns back to the ridge. You decide to hunt in another fashion. You go and mount Rain. He must hear you, he turns to you.  


“Why you gettin’ on yer horse?”  


“I figure we can cover more hunting grounds better on horseback,” you respond, taking the reins. You lead Rain over the ridge and gallop away, shouting to Arthur that you’re not going to wander too far.  


You wander the landscape for several moments, spotting nothing. You circle your way back, looking for Arthur. You spot him hunched in a cluster of brush, staring down an unaware doe. You decide to try and show off. You notch an arrow and stiffen your back, urging Rain into a gallop with your legs, directing her with your calves towards the deer.  


Rain dashes towards the deer, who, upon hearing the thundering hooves, turns and begins to run. You pull the bowstring back, aiming for a spot on the back of her head. You don’t compensate for the movement of Rain’s body, though, and when you release the arrow, it goes flying off towards a large boulder far from your target. You feel yourself slipping off the side of your saddle just as you see Arthur’s arrow taking the deer down.  


You struggle to right yourself, but you’re not fast enough. You slip off the saddle, tumbling to the ground with a thud.  


Arthur runs over to you, chuckling. “Ya a’right?”  


“Yeah,” you say, standing up unhurt and brushing yourself off. “Thought I could take her down like that. After all, I’m gettin’ pretty good with a bow.”  


“Well, it takes years to get that good, Y/N,” Arthur says, standing next to you. “I’da been impressed if ya even got the arrow close to her.”  


You feel less embarrassed now that you failed so spectacularly in front of the big outlaw. Instead, you feel appreciative that he at least isn’t going to start laughing at you.  


“Listen, why don’t ya go ahead and skin the deer?”  


“No, no. You killed it, you should skin it.”  


“Just go do it,” he chuckles, patting you on the back again, sending that feeling of warmth into your skin again.  


You begin skinning and butchering the deer laying on the hot, dry ground. For a moment, you wonder if Arthur’s angry at you having taken his kill as he approaches.  


“That weren’t too bad, Y/N,” he says, tucking his thumbs in his gun belt, stopping feet from you. You can’t help but smile. “How come ya can’t read or write, but ya can hunt with the best of us?”  


“Ah, I had to teach myself how to hunt, otherwise I’da starved years ago,” you say, rolling up the pelt. “Found this bow, knife and shotgun one day when I was wanderin’ by my house where I lived with my husband. Some hunter must have gotten on the wrong side of a bear, he was dead in his camp. So I took his weapons and taught myself how to use them.”  


“Yer husband didn’t teach ya?”  


“Course not. He would’ve been furious if he even found out I could. He was convinced my sole purpose was to clean at home and cook his meals. He never would have let me bring home the food, but he was such a useless son of a bitch that I had to.”  


“Bad business,” Arthur says.  


“Well,” you throw the pelt over Rain’s hind quarters. “It’s over now.”  


Arthur doesn’t press it further. For the remainder of the day, the two of you wander the perimeter of the lake, hunting animals and gathering plants. As the afternoon progresses to night, dark clouds begin to gather and threaten above your heads.  


By late afternoon, the sky has grown so dark and ominous, you both decide to call it a day, heading back to your make-shift camp. Arthur makes another fire and you both begin to cook some of the meat you’ve gathered over the day. After a short period of time, you feel tiny dots of water flecking on your skin.  


Arthur looks up at the black sky, then over at your bedroll, still exposed to the open air.  


“Think ya oughta move yer bedroll into the tent. Looks like it might rain all night.”  


You look at him, and then at the empty tent, feeling uncomfortable  


“I… I don’t wanna impose.”  


“Ain’t gonna be imposin’, Y/N.”  


“Arthur, I’ll be okay, I promise.”  


“Ya ain’t gonna be doin’ anyone any favors by gettin’ sick,” he says. “Look, we’ll both take different sides of the tent.”  


He gets up and shifts his bedroll to the far side of the tent, leaving enough room for you. Recognizing defeat, you stand and gather your own bedroll, the drops of water becoming more frequent. You unroll the bag on the other side of the tent as far as you can while Arthur resupplies the wood in the fire pit. You try to make as much space between your roll and Arthur’s, but there’s only a few inches. You sit on your roll, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. Arthur bends down and enters the tent, settling down.  


“Ya ain’t gotta be so worried, Y/N,” he says, not looking at you. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’.”  


He lays down on his back, draping an arm over his eyes. You nervously take his lead, laying down on your side with your back to the outlaw. You relax as much as you can, but you can’t stop the fast beating of your heart. The last time you were this close to anyone was the night before you had killed your husband, and it had been the last night he had done those things to you. You can’t help but feel nervous, even though you’re sure Arthur will be true to his word.  


You fall asleep, curled on your side, hearing nothing but the sound of the rain falling fast and heavy on the canvas above your head.


	4. Flight

Warnings: mild swearing  
Word Count: ~8400

You open your eyes, your body incredibly stiff. Your left arm is asleep under your head. You realize that, despite being uncomfortable, you haven’t moved an inch in your sleep. Seems that even in your unconscious state, your body was far more aware of the closeness of Arthur behind you. The canvas above you still pelts with the sound of rain.  


You peak over your shoulder, twisting your stiff neck. Arthur is already sitting up, staring out of the tent into the grey world beyond it. You slowly turn your body, sitting up yourself, feeling embarrassed and wondering if Arthur might be angry. His expression is hard to read, but he looks serious. He looks over as you sit up. He reaches behind him and puts on his weathered hat, clearing his throat.  


“Sorry if I woke ya,” he says in his gruff voice.  


“Nah, you didn’t.”  


The two of you sit in silence for a few moments. You start to feel more relaxed. You question why you felt so nervous around Arthur. All he has been to you is kind since he decided not to turn you in. You know your nervousness and anxiety comes from your husband, the way he treated you. You have to remind yourself that Arthur is the farthest thing from the man you were once married to.  


“Looks like it might rain th’ rest of the day,” he says, still not looking at you. “We might as well head on back to camp.”  


He gets up and leaves the tent, entering the downpour. You take a few moments to straighten yourself up and work out the soreness in your joints. Once you’re composed, you head out after him.  


The rain has slightly transformed the world around Lake Don Julio, dulling down the harsh yellows of the grass and turning the orange rocks to brown. The sky above is still heavy and dark. It seems to whisper a promise of more rain to come, and possibly even lightning. You approach Rain while Arthur packs up the tent; the fire had already been doused by the rain. You pat your horse affectionately and tighten up the saddle. Arthur follows suit, mounting Boadicea. You hoist yourself into your own saddle and the two of you turn to leave.  


Within moments of having left, you’re clothes are soaked. For the moment, you’re not cold since the desert still seems to retain some of its endless heat. You decide to pick up a conversation with the burly man ahead of you.  


“I must admit, I’m lookin’ forward to readin’,” you say, unsure if he can hear you over the sound of the rain spattering in puddles.  


“It ain’t gonna be fun, I promise ya,” he responds. “Dutch and Hosea taught me to read when I was 14. Pain in the ass when ya first start.”  


You pause for a moment. “Are you going to be joining in my lessons?”  


“Maybe, if ya want. Hosea and I are thinkin’ of plannin’ a real estate scam.”  


“If he’s doing that, how is he gonna have time to teach me?”  


“Don’t worry ‘bout that. S’long as ya show him ya wanna learn, he’ll make time for ya.”  


The two of you fall silent. Arthur spurs Boadicea into an easy canter, you following his lead. During the trip, you both keep an eye out for more prey, despite the rain. You both pick off a few more deer and pronghorns.  


In the early afternoon, you reach Hennigan’s Stead. Arthur calls back to you.  


“We oughta find a few more animals, bring ‘em back whole for Pearson.”  


You shout your agreement and start looking around for any signs of movement from animals, despite the fact that you’ve begun to shiver. You’re as drenched as you would be if you had gone and jumped into the San Luis River. You shake your hands, trying to stave off the chill from your fingers.  


Arthur suddenly breaks into a gallop, leaving the trail behind. You look ahead of him and see he’s spotted more pronghorns. You push Rain to follow him, pulling out your bow and hooking an arrow to the string. The thrill of the hunt pushes the cold to the back of your mind.  


The two of you hop off your horses, stalking the grazing animals. In a matter of seconds, you’ve both brought down an animal for each of you to carry. You wonder if you should butcher your kill. You watch Arthur take his pronghorn whole and strap it tightly to Boadicea’s back. You do the same.  


Once you’re back in your saddle, the cold comes back to you. You do your best to suppress the shivering, not wanting Arthur to see. If he notices, he doesn’t mention it, and the two of you go back to the trail, traveling at a brisk trot.  


You’re just about to come to the chasm when Rain begins to whinny and snort in fear. She stomps fiercely and tosses her head. You’re reminded of the cougar, and you look around quickly, holding a hand to your bow. Then you hear it: a faint rattling over the sound of the pummelling rain. You look towards the sound and see the rattlesnake on one side of the trail, slithering away from your horse towards a large rock. You guide Rain to the other side, patting her and telling her to calm down.  


“Everything a’right?” Arthur calls behind.  


“Yeah, just a snake. She’s fine. I don’t know what it is, but she’s more terrified of snakes than just about anything else. One time a wolf tried scaring her, ran right under her. All she did was stomp her foot and kick him in the head. Last time I think that wolf tried goin’ after a horse.”  


Arthur laughed. “Yeah, most horses are real scared of snakes. Except Boadicea. She don’t seem to care much.” He patted her neck affectionately, praising her.  


The two of you trot down into the chasm, following it north. A small creek runs down its trail, licking over the horses’ hooves. You follow Arthur up the rise, leaving Hennigan’s Stead behind.  


As you come over the ridge, you glance around at the watery landscape and you spot, in the distance to your left, a rabbit feeding in the open. You quickly dismount, grabbing your bow, and begin stalking the oblivious rabbit. You shoot the arrow quickly, but the downpour has made your sense of the surroundings more blurry, and you miss it. The rabbit darts off into the tall grass, vanishing. You sigh in frustration, returning to Rain. Arthur has stopped, watching you. He says nothing, and he turns Boadicea to carry on.  


The two of you head back to the trail. Not far ahead is the copse of trees, marking Bison Point. Despite the heavy downfall of rain, you can see the columns of smoke rising from the fires that are always lit in camp.  


You enter the trees, their wet limbs and leaves brushing against your hat and face. You’re glad to be back, despite knowing this is the end of your freedom. You’ll be able to get fresh, warm clothes on at least.  


“Who’s there?” yells Bill, approaching with the repeater.  


“Arthur, ya dumbass!” You chuckle at his response.  


“The hero returns!” Bill retorts.  


You hitch Rain next to Boadicea and heave the dead pronghorn onto your shoulder. You walk awkwardly towards the wagon.  


“Think we’ll be well fed tonight!” praises Sean as he walks past you.  


You stop at the front of Pearson’s wagon, slamming the carcass down on the table. The cook approaches, seeing you and Arthur with your kills.  


“Very nice!”  


“We got more with that, Pearson,” Arthur says. “Got quite a bounty for ya.”  


“Very good, Mr. Morgan. You did well.”  


“It weren’t just me, Pearson. Y/N did a lot of the work.”  


Pearson looks at you, scratching his moustache. “Ah, very fine.”  


You smile at Pearson, going back to Rain as Arthur sets down his kill. You go and gather up the pelts from her hindquarters. You look back at Arthur, talking with Pearson, grabbing the pelts off of Boadicea, as well. She snorts and shuffles her feet nervously, and you work quickly before she can have the chance to kick or stomp on you. You haul the pelts back over to Pearson, struggling a little with their weight.  


“Here ya are,” you say, plopping them on the ground beside his table. He looks at the pile, a pleased expression on his face. “Very good, Y/N. That’ll do just fine. If you two go out hunting more often, I won’t have to worry so much about having meat in the stew.”  


You look down slightly, doubtful that you’ll get a second invitation from Arthur. Over all, the trip was rather uneventful, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he found your company lacking.  


“Shoar, think we can hunt some more in the future.”  


You’re taken aback and stare at him, once again waiting for him to announce he’s joking. Instead, he pats your shoulder. “Y/N is pretty good at huntin’. Bet she can get even better, too.”  


He releases your shoulder and walks away towards his tented wagon, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You stand awkwardly for a moment before recalling you’re freezing, so you go back to Rain and pull off your bedroll, which is dripping wet. You head back to your small tent, bending down and going inside of it. You unroll the bedroll, wishing there was a place to hang it so it could dry, but the rain hasn’t let up a bit. You reach into a large bag stored at the back of the tent and reach in, pulling out fresh clothes. You change quickly after pulling the front flaps of the tent shut.  


You remain seated in the tent, still feeling cold and shaky from the storm. A distant rumble of thunder echoes above you, announcing the storm isn’t going to pass anytime soon.  


A voice from outside calls your name. You recognize the gentle voice of Hosea. Pulling the flaps open, you poke your head out after putting your hat back on.  


“Yes?”  


“I heard your trip was fruitful. Figure, if you’re up to it, we can start readin’.”  


Another rumble of thunder, this time closer. You swear the rain starts coming down harder.  


“You sure? Don’t know where we can do it while the weather’s like this,” you say.  


“We can start under the canvas Bill and I use at night. Should provide enough cover.”  


The old man turns away and walks towards the canvas he mentioned. You follow him to it. Hosea pulls a chair under the canvas, stretched above his and Bill’s bedrolls on four long, skinny poles. He sits himself on the chair and gestures for you to sit on a bedroll.  


Once you’re seated, he reaches into his satchel on the ground, pulling out a thin book. You recognize it as a children’s book. It’s titled ‘Otis Miller and the Black-Hearted Lady’. The cover is brightly colored, depicting a cowboy standing before a woman in a black dress holding a smoking pistol.  


“We’ll start with one of Jack’s books. It should be easy enough for you to start with,” he says, handing you the book. You hold it carefully, and then look back up at him.  


“Arthur says you and Dutch taught him to write. Could you teach me?”  


“Of course,” he smiles. “Once this rain lets up, we can do that. It’s hard to write when all our tables are soaking wet.”  


You smile and open the front cover of the book, recognizing none of the symbols on the page, apart from the fact that they are words.  


“Before we get too involved with the book, let me teach you the letters,” says Hosea, stripping a paper out of his journal he pulled from his satchel. He writes every letter twice, one capitalized and one in lower case. He hands you the paper and starts teaching you their names and pronunciations.  


You go over them with him for what seems like hours until he’s finally satisfied and you have their names memorized. He pulls out another piece of paper and writes down simple words, consisting of no more than three our four letters a piece. He hands it to you.  


“Now, try to remember how each letter is pronounced, and put them together.”  


“But some letters are said different ways,” you say, feeling less confident.  


“That’s okay, I’ll correct you.”  


You shuffle your feet under your knees and begin. Some of the words are easy, but some prove difficult. You struggle quite a bit with the word ‘cat’. You have to keep reminding yourself that ‘c’ can be started as an ‘s’ or a ‘k’. Hosea, though, is patient and helpful.  


After some time, you manage to read off every word he’s written with no difficulty, but your brain is beginning to feel like mush.  


“You’re doin’ real good there, Y/N,” Hosea says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll have a new page of words for you every day. Now, are you done for the day or do you want to carry on?”  


“Could I have a break? I don’t know if I’m done for the day.”  


“Okay.”  


You get up, stretching your numb legs. The rain has finally slowed to a drizzle. You approach Pearson’s wagon, reaching into the barrel to splash some water on your face. When Pearson sees you, he grabs you and assigns you the job of helping to cut up more vegetables for the stew.

For the next several days, the routine becomes the same. When you aren’t doing chores for Grimshaw or Pearson, you’re reading. Right around the time Pearson sets out the stew, you go to Hosea to get his latest sheet of paper with new words. You sit with him each afternoon while the two of you eat, reading them off. Once you’re done with the paper, Hosea has you read from Jack’s book.  


Every once in a while, Arthur will take Hosea’s place, mostly whenever Hosea has run off to Blackwater or on a job.  


One afternoon, you see Hosea waiting for you at one of the tables eating his serving of stew. There’s a blank paper and a pencil set before him, and he looks at you expectantly. You approach with your own dinner.  


“You’re learning fast, Y/N,” he greets. “It’s time ya start learning how to write.”  


You sit down, excited. Since you’ve begun to learn reading, you’ve slowly started to enjoy it, although Arthur wasn’t wrong: it’s a pain in the ass.  


Hosea instructs you to write every letter of the alphabet on the blank page, two forms of each: one capitalized and one lower case, just as he had the first day of lessons.  


You grab the page and recall a memory from a few days ago when you had caught a glimpse of a page of Arthur’s journal. Your reading wasn’t progressed enough to understand any of the words he’d written, but you had admired his beautiful writing: the looping curves, the graceful swipes.  


You begin writing the letters, and to say that they look dreadful is an understatement. They all end up crooked, and some could hardly even be called letters. Hosea chuckles a bit when you hand him the finished page, feeling slightly sheepish.  


“Well, it’s a start, I guess. Let me show you a technique.”  


He pulls out a new sheet and draws 24 small, straight horizontal lines along it. He then instructs you to write the letters more slowly along each line. You do so, and the result is better, but only slightly. At least they’re straight.  


“Good, now name the letters to me,” he says, pushing his empty plate away and pulling out a pipe.  


You do so, not even hesitating while naming them. You’ve been reciting them to yourself every day since lessons started. Whenever you’ve come across anything with letters, you’ve taken the time to name the letters, even if you can’t read what they say as a word. You feel somewhat proud when you finish saying them.  


“Very good. You’re learnin’ fast, Y/N,” he says again, puffing. He flips the page over to show the blank side. He then writes some simple words, each followed with another horizontal line. He tells you to copy them as closely as possible.  


Obediently, you write down the words, but they look terrible next to Hosea’s. His writing isn’t as curvy or appealing as Arthur’s, but it still looks better than yours.  


“Well, at least you can read ‘em,” he praises with a chuckle. “I’ll add a sheet like this every day with your reading pages.”  


He pulls out Jack’s book and tells you to read.

It’s the end of April. The rain that came down during your hunting trip with Arthur has long since disappeared, the land thirsty and desperate once again. The hunting trip was the last time you had left camp. It was also the last time you had seen the outlaw for more than a couple of hours. Not that the two of you weren’t busy. Now that you had reading and writing lessons on top of your chores, you went to bed exhausted every night. From what you had heard from Hosea, he and Arthur were also busy pulling this real estate scam together.  


Dutch has become increasingly less suspicious of you, even approaching you and greeting you on occasion. Occasionally, he will stop and listen to you read with Hosea, sometimes even praising you.  


You sit on one of the crates beside Mary-Beth. She’s knitting away at an old shirt, and you hold a new book of Jack’s in front of you. This one is on the same level as the previous one, in fact it’s another Otis Miller novel. You read aloud, something Hosea had encouraged you to do. When you get a word wrong or have trouble with one, Mary-Beth is more than helpful.  


You’re just beginning a new chapter when Micah’s loud voice interrupts you. You’ve had no interactions with him since you first met, and that suited you just fine. He greets Dutch, followed by Mac and Davey Callendar.  


“Dutch, I gotta new lead you might just be interested in,” he greets in his oily voice.  


Dutch, standing outside his tent, lowers his cigar. “What is it, my boy?”  


“A river boat,” says Micah, smiling. “Coming to Blackwater. Carryin’ a pile of cash. Me and the Callendar boys was diggin’ around, sounds like there won’t be too much security neither. Think it might be an easy take for us.”  


Dutch stands silently for a moment. Hosea and Arthur approach him.  


“What you thinkin’, Dutch?” Micah demands.  


“What about the real estate scam Arthur and I have goin’?” Hosea interrupts.  


“This river boat has a lot more money than some scam that might not work, old man,” Micah says, smirking at Hosea.  


“You watch your mouth, Micah,” Arthur growls. Micah chuckles.  


“Take it easy, big guy.”  


Dutch still has not spoken a word. His face is cross, his inner gears turning.  


“How much you think this take is worth, Micah?” he finally asks.  


“A lot, Dutch. Sounds like it’s bein’ moved from the bank in Saint Denis to Blackwater early next month.”  


Dutch’s eyes sparkle at the mention of money from a bank; a guaranteed big score.  


“You say security will be light?” he asks.  


“Sure, Dutch,” Micah says. “Heard it all from some bank teller when he was havin’ a smoke. They think if they move it on the boat, it’s less likely to be hit.”  


“Well, they don’t know us,” grins Mac, Davey chuckling beside him.  


Dutch is silent for another moment. “Micah, keep your eyes and ears on this river boat. Sounds like it might be promising.”  


“Dutch,” Hosea pleads again. “I don’t know too much, but this don’t feel right. Bank jobs are rarely easy. Besides, Arthur and I have got somethin’ comin’ together.”  


“Hosea, if you and Arthur want to do this real estate job of yours, go ahead. But I think I might have a plan coming together. Faith, my brother.”  


He pats Hosea on the shoulder, turning into his tent and sitting beside Molly. You glance at Micah, and you don’t like the grin hiding behind his thick moustache.  


He spots you sitting on the crate. He saunters over in your direction, still smiling.  


“Well, if it isn’t Miss Murder herself!” he declares.  


“What are you talkin’ about?” you demand.  


He stands in front of you, holding onto his gun belt. “I think ya know exactly what I mean.”  


You stay silent. You know he’s trying to make you angry, you won’t give him the satisfaction.  


“What’s going on?” Tilly walks over, looking between the two of you.  


“You ain’t told no one your secret?” he grins wider. “Why, little missy here’s wanted for murder down in Blackwater!”  


“Murder?” Mary-Beth asks as your stomach clenches.  


“That’s right. Murder! I was walkin’ past the sheriff’s there. Saw a bounty poster for a Y/F/N Y/L/N. Same first name, same face. And I thought to myself it couldn’t be the same Y/N we know, she’s too quiet. Too sweet. But nope. She’s one and the same. Wanted for murderin’ her entire family in a single night.”  


Mary-Beth and Tilly look at you, and you glare at the ground.  


“So what if she killed her family?” Tilly defends. “Maybe they had it comin’.”  


“And maybe they did,” Micah remarks as Arthur approaches, drawn by the sound of arguing. “But that begs the question: how long before she kills one of us and says we had it comin’?”  


Your temper is beginning to boil. You finally look at him, standing up, the book in your lap dropping to the ground. “If I kill anyone in this camp, Micah, it’s gonna be you!”  


Micah chuckles slowly, knowing he’s finally pushed you. “I’d like to see you try.”  


“That’s enough, Micah,” Arthur growls at him. “I think it’s time ya leave Y/N alone.”  


Micah raises his hands. “Relax, big man, didn’t mean to insult your girlfriend here.”  


You can feel yourself blushing, but you don’t care who sees. You approach Micah, shoving his shoulder with your hand.  


“Just get away from me!” you warn.  


Micah chuckles again, turning to leave. “Of course. Don’t need to be so serious, Miss Murder.”  


You stand there, breathing hard. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, asking questions you’ve no desire to answer. You turn and sit back on your crate, grabbing your book again.  


Karen approaches you from behind. It’s obvious she’s drunk. “Don’t mind that big slug,” her voice wobbles. “He’s an ass.”  


“He’s done that to near everyone since he showed up six months ago,” Tilly explains, going back to the washing bin near her bedroll. “He tried gettin’ me mad over killin’ one of them Foreman Brothers. Got real nasty when it didn’t bother me.”  


Arthur still stands before you, wearing another curious expression. “Ya a’right, Y/N?”  


“Yeah. Just frustrated. Was kinda hopin’ to keep that on the down low.”  


“Well, it was bound to get ‘round sooner or later,” Arthur says. “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it too much. Doubt anyone here will care much.”  


Arthur tips his hat to you before walking away, back towards Hosea. The others around you begin going back to their chores, acting as though nothing had happened, which you feel grateful for.  


You’re not ashamed of what you did. Those people, your parents and husband, deserved what you did to them. Hell, they put you through worse. However, you know most people wouldn’t see it that way, and that’s why you decided a year ago to not tell anyone.

May comes to Bison Point bright and hot, feeling more like summer than spring. Every day since Micah first brought the river boat job, he’s been hinting at it in some way to Dutch. You have hardly any time to notice, though, between lessons and chores.  


Hosea and Arthur have made it perfectly clear that they’ve no interest in the score. Hosea claims he has a bad feeling about it, and Arthur seems to be enjoying working with him too much to be worried about the boat.  


Everyone in camp has been buzzing about the score, though. The entire camp is desperate for money, and Micah and Dutch are both under the impression the take will be excellent. You, however, are nervous. No score goes entirely unnoticed, and you’re sure that no matter how lenient the security on the boat might be, it’s still likely to attract the law. Law from Blackwater, where your heavy bounty remains.  


You haven’t set foot in Blackwater for more than a year, since before you killed your family. Your father and husband had all been well-known figures in the town. Word and suspicion that you had killed them would still be prominent, so you have avoided your hometown like the plague.  


You announce your fears to Hosea one afternoon during reading. He has quickly become a close friend to you. Part of you is even beginning to see him as a fatherly figure, something you’ve been desperate for your entire life. He pats your shoulder tenderly. He, like the others in camp, knows you’re an outlaw, but he doesn’t know why.  


“I wouldn’t be too worried, Y/N,” he assures you. “We’ve pulled scores like this before, the law has never found us. Even if they do get chased, they won’t lead ‘em here.”  


“Hosea’s right,” Arthur chimes in, approaching the table where you sit. “We been runnin’ from the law a while now, they ain’t found us yet. Even if this job goes south, which Dutch is shoar it won’t, we’ll be a’right.”  


“I hope so,” you sigh. “If they find out I’m here, they won’t stop hunting me, or you for that matter.”  


“I’ll keep ya safe, Y/N,” Arthur promises. “Ain’t no one gonna get anywhere near you.”  


He tips his hat slightly towards you, smiling, then he moves on towards the main campfire. His promise fills you with warmth. You turn your face from Hosea, trying to hide the faint blush you know is in your cheeks before turning back to the book you’re reading aloud. 

The day comes for the big river boat heist Dutch and Micah have been planning for the past few weeks. Early in the morning, Dutch wraps himself in a black coat and ties on a red plaid bandana around his neck, approaching the horses. Micah, John, Bill, Sean, Mac, Davey, and Javier follow him, all of them wearing coats and bandanas.  


Dutch turns and calls attention from the camp.  


“This is it, ladies and gentlemen. When we come back, we’ll all be rich enough to leave this place and find a bit of decent land. I promise you we can all have normal lives after this. No more worryin’ about if we’ll have enough food, no more worryin’ about if Jack will have new clothes. Stay with me now, and have faith!”  


The others in the camp yell and holler their excitement and wish the party good luck. Hosea, Arthur, and a girl named Jenny are absent, having left for Blackwater the previous night to pull the final strings on their scam. You didn’t know Jenny very well, only having had interacted with her a few times, but she was quiet and kind. She has an incredible talent for drawing, putting even Arthur’s sketches to shame. She was young, close to Lenny’s age, and it was clear to everyone in camp that he was sweet on her.  


Dutch and the others mount their horses and leave the cover of the trees, the camp still yelling. You want to join in, but you have a bad feeling. Perhaps you’re just worried about the Blackwater sheriff chasing them here, chasing them to you. You shake your head, trying to dispel the feelings of unease with your chores. Unfortunately, the tasks you’ve been set are mindless. By midday, you give up and take out your book. Another drawback comes in the form of Ms. Grimshaw.  


“Now ain’t the time for readin’, young lady!” she roars at you, stomping in your direction. You quickly stand up, dropping the book and dashing towards the crates near Karen and Mary-Beth, picking up a needle, thread, and cloth before she can get a hold of you. She nods, satisfied, and heads off towards Strauss.  


“Some day, I’m gonna murder that old goat,” Karen huffs. “Don’t let her get to ya.” You smile appreciatively.  


The sun is beginning to dip down to the horizon, rippling its farewells, and still the party hasn’t returned. Grimshaw paces the camp, expectant.  


“Hope everything’s okay,” says Mary-Beth over her plate of stew. Karen tips the remainder of her bottle, gulping loudly.  


“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you say, hardly believing it yourself.  


A sudden thundering of hooves echoes into camp. You turn with the others and see the party coming back, coated in sweat, their horses trembling. You can tell instantly by their faces that something has gone terribly wrong. Arthur is mounted behind John on his Kentucky Saddler, Jenny behind Hosea on Silver Dollar, looking pale and weak. Mac and Sean are nowhere to be seen. Both Arthur and Jenny had left on their own horses, which are now absent. Dutch storms up after them on his arabian the Count. He hops off his horse, looking angrier than you’ve ever seen.  


“Everyone, get your things together now! We need to leave! You have five minutes!”  


The camp scrambles, turning everything to havok. You dash to your tent, throwing everything together, not worrying about packing it nicely. You can hear all around you people yelling, Grimshaw demanding from Dutch about what had happened.  


“Things didn’t go as planned,” he hollers at her. “There was more guards than anticipated, Pinkertons too. But we need to get out of here, and fast.”  


Within moments, the camp is packed up rather sloppily, a few things are being left behind. Charles yells out as he douses one of the campfires. He’s accidentally burned his hand, and Strauss rushes over to bandage it quickly. Dutch yells at everyone to hurry up.  


The horses are strapped to the wagons, and the entire company is moving out. You’re seated inside the wagon with the other women, along with Davey, who’s been shot in the side. He groans in pain, lying on his back, Abigail doing her best to tend to his wounds. Dutch and Hosea sit on the lead wagon, you can faintly hear them as the party leaves Bison Point.  


“Where should we head, Dutch?”  


“Out west, I think. Towards Armadillo,” he grunts, still angry.  


“You sure? D’you think the Pinkertons will follow us out that way?”  


“Let’s hope they don’t”  


Everyone is silent, you watch the sun dip below the far off mountains. You wonder what will happen now.

The gang has travelled all through the night, you struggle to get any sleep due to the cramped wagon and the fear in your gut that the law will catch up to you and the others.  


Dutch and Hosea lead the wagons off the trails, to shake off anyone who might be following. The eastern horizon is just beginning to fade from black to blue when you peak out of the wagon. Ahead, you can see the outline of Armadillo, a small, dry town set in the middle of the desert. Dutch suddenly pulls the wagon train to a stop, telling Hosea to hand him a pair of binoculars.  


“What is it?” Hosea says.  


Dutch stays silent as he scans the town.  


“Damn,” he says, lowering them. “Pinkertons.”  


“You sure?” Hosea squints at the town.  


“No doubt. They must have figured we’d come this way.”  


Arthur has hopped off the back wagon and approaches the front.  


“What’s goin’ on?” he asks. Hosea explains the situation to him. “What’s the plan then, Dutch?”  


Dutch furrows his brow. “North. We go north, up into the Grizzlies. We’ll take our chances up there. Grab Charles and Javier, have them scout ahead of us, make sure we don’t run into any trouble.”  


Arthur tips his hat, going back to the wagons behind you. Davey groans loudly behind you. Abigail looks worried. Along with Davey, it turns out John got shot in the leg, and Jenny has been badly wounded during the flight. From what you’ve heard, she’s in even worse condition than Davey.  


The wagon train turns right, facing the mountains north, but the easiest way to get to the Grizzlies was to also head east, back the way you’d come. After a few hours, you see the peaks of Tall Trees. Seems like you had come full circle now, and how much things hadn’t changed for you: still on the run from the law. Despite all that, your life couldn’t be more different.  


Dutch leads the train through Tall Trees, still continuing north. Every once in a while, Charles or Javier returns, reporting the lack of activity ahead of them. Dutch seems relieved.  


“That doesn’t solve one problem, though,” says Hosea. “What about what we’re leaving behind? Someone should check that we’re not being followed.”  


Dutch agrees. Javier trots his grey pinto beside the lead wagon, listening.  


“Javier, grab Bill and Lenny, have them scout the trail behind.”  


“Okay, Dutch,” Javier says, turning his horse to go and grab the men Dutch mentioned.  


The train continues on north, still avoiding the trail as much as possible, which is made difficult by how thick the forest is in Tall Trees. You spot the familiar path that leads to Aurora Basin. You almost wish Arthur was beside you instead of Grimshaw, he could ease your mind off your fear. Of course, you doubt he’s given much thought to how much his actions have changed your life.  


The train moves further north, across the Upper Montana river, past Lake Owanjila, and up into Big Valley. The forest here looks as though it had been burned years ago, the trees blackened above the ground covered in new, green growth.  


Upon arriving here, Charles returns from scouting north on his appaloosa mare. “Nothing up ahead, our way is clear. But there is a ranch where I thought I saw signs of another gang hiding out.”  


“We should avoid them, then,” says Hosea. “We got enough trouble.”  


“One other thing,” Charles says. “It looks like a real nasty storm is comin’ in.”  


“We should head for it,” Dutch replies. “Might be our best bet for losin’ these damn Pinkertons.”  


Dutch whips the horses further, Charles dashing ahead to scout again.  


You glance out of the wagon, trying to distract yourself from Davey’s constant groaning. The forest is thinning, and to your right, a huge meadow dotted with wildflowers flows ahead, split by a winding, shallow river. Farther along, you can spot the large ranch Charles mentioned, though it’s too far for you to see the people he warned of. The sky above it is dark, heavy with black clouds. If they hadn’t been there, you would’ve been able to see the peaks of the tall, snow-capped mountains. Dutch leads the gang straight towards the dark storm, urging the horses to go even faster. Lenny gallops to his side.  


“More Pinkertons?” Dutch asks.  


“Yeah, Dutch,” he says. “They’ve reached Owanjila.”  


“Have they spotted you or Bill?”  


“Don’t think so, but think they may have found our tracks.”  


“We’ll just have to shake ‘em then,” Dutch says, tossing the reins even harder, the horses neighing as they pull the wagon as quickly as they are able.  


The company passes the large valley quickly, along with the ranch, taking cover beneath the thick forest once again. You notice suddenly how chilly the air has become. Throughout the journey, as the gang has fled the west, the temperature has dropped slowly as you’ve gone north, but now there is a definite bite to it. As you head further north still, into the foothills of the Grizzlies, small flakes of snow swirl down from the sky. At first, they all melt as soon as they hit the ground. As the train passes the trail leading up to the top of Mount Hagen, though, the flakes begin sticking to the ground, and the trail quickly turns to cold slush. The horses are forced to slow down to a walk.  


You’re becoming far too restless in the wagon. You head to the back, staring out to what you’re leaving behind. You can see below the faint green glimmer of the valley you had passed. You spot Rain, tied to the last wagon along with some of the other horses, including the Count and Silver Dollar. You decide to stretch your legs for a bit, and hop out of the moving wagon. You quickly step out of the way so the wagon behind yours, driven by Micah and Pearson, doesn’t trample you.  


“Get back in the wagon, Y/N!” hollers Grimshaw.  


“I just need a minute,” you call back.  


Arthur suddenly hops out of the wagon that had just passed you, seeing you on the trail.  


“What’s wrong?” he asks.  


“Nothing, I just been in that wagon too long. Pretty sure Davey’s dyin’, he won’t stop moanin’.”  


“Well, it’s been the same in my wagon. Poor Jenny,” he says, shaking his head.  


“How’s she doin’?”  


“Ah, she didn’t make it. Passed away as we was goin’ through the valley. I gotta go tell Dutch. Why don’t you come with me?”  


You agree, feeling somewhat sad about Jenny, despite the fact you hardly knew her. You accompany Arthur, walking through the mud towards the front of the train. Arthur quickly tells Dutch what happened, and he pulls his wagon to his stop. The others come to a halt as well.  


“Poor Jenny,” Dutch repeats Arthur. “She was a good kid. Listen, we’ll take a few minutes. Need to pull out some warmer gear for everyone.”  


Everyone gratefully gets out of the wagons. Javier and Charles have both returned to help out. As you and Arthur dig through chests to pull out thick, winter coats and blankets, you turn to him.  


“Saw you come back without Boadicea. What happened?”  


He doesn’t speak for a moment, not looking at you. “One of them damn Pinkertons shot her. Had to leave her behind.”  


“Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry.”  


“She was a good horse. I’ll miss her.”  


You don’t really know what to say, but you grab a large, blue coat with ram’s fur lining the inside. You hand it to Arthur as he’s giving out others to Grimshaw and Tilly. He thanks you as he wraps it around his broad frame, buttoning it closed.  


After several moments, the gang is packed back up, bundled tightly. Lenny and Bill approach from the south, both looking tired.  


“Those Pinkertons have stopped down in the valley, there,” Bill says. Pearson hands him and Lenny thick coats to put on.  


“Very good,” says Dutch. “We’ll keep going north, we need to find someplace we can all stay for a while until we lose them. John, why don’t you scout up ahead. Micah will go with you. Arthur, why don’t you go ahead of us as well.”  


“Here, take Taima,” Charles says, hopping off his appaloosa and offering Arthur the reins.  


“Sure thing, Dutch” says John in his raspy voice, mounting his dunn mare. He and Arthur set off, heading further into the slowly growing storm, Micah trailing behind them.  


You settle back down inside the wagon near Davey’s head, who’s still groaning. Abigail has wrapped him up in a coat, but he’s barely moved the past half hour.  


The train continues moving on north, the snow beginning to fall thicker, piling onto the ground. For the next few hours, you continue on with the gang, travelling in relative silence. Everyone’s still in shock from the fast departure from Bison Point. There’s little detail about the river boat job, and Dutch and the others who were there are being relatively tight-lipped about it. The one thing you know about it is things went about as bad as possible, and Dutch even killed a girl. You may hardly know him, and he’s had very little interactions with you since you’ve arrived, but you couldn’t imagine him killing anyone in cold blood.  


Night settles in over the mountains as the train continues on. The snow is now thick on the ground, and it’s still coming down in great swirls. Your breath forms a cloud in front of you, mixing with the others in the frigid air.  


You glance at the world around the wagons, which has been transformed by the snow and night. Tall trees stand wrapped in thick cloaks of the white powder, the trail ahead has become near impossible to detect. The air has become deathly silent, any sound absorbed by the thick snow which sparkles in the light of the few lanterns being lit. The train has left the trail, heading slightly west further up into the high peaks. To the right, below the ridge, lies a large, half frozen lake.  


The night grows darker, the snow thicker in the air. Still, Dutch leads the wagons on. John returns, blood streaming down his horse’s side from his wounded leg.  


“Nothin’ ahead, Dutch,” he says roughly.  


“Good. Head on west, that’s where we’re headin’.”  


John tips his hat and keeps going. Dutch points the train to head deeper into the mountains.  


For the next several hours, the gang travels this way until the air becomes lighter as an unseen sun brings the dawn. The snow still falls thickly and silently all around, piling up further on the frozen ground.  


Every once in a while, one of the lookouts returns, reporting nothing. Dutch mentions nothing about finding a place to stop, but you can tell it lingers on everyone’s mind as the day presses on. It’s only a matter of time until the train stops.  


By mid afternoon, the air has somehow grown colder. More blankets are pulled out, but they seem to do nothing to help. Hosea turns to Dutch as they prepare to head off again.  


“I don’t think we can go much further this way,” he gestures, pointing to the west. “Mountains are gettin’ too steep.”  


Dutch sighs heavily. “We’ll have to turn back east again, but guess we ain’t got much choice.”  


He leads the train around a mountain, turning back once more. Night falls once again, and the snow hasn’t let up at all. If anything, it’s gotten heavier. The train angles towards the south now, forced to do so by the steep mountains and the heaping snow. You hear Davey groan behind you. He’s been getting quieter over the day; you can tell he hasn’t got much longer left. Abigail presses her hands to his forehead. She turns to Reverend Swanson.  


“He ain’t gonna make it’, we need to stop somewhere.”  


Swanson nods his head and climbs out of the wagon, walking up towards Dutch.  


“Abigail says he’s dyin’, Dutch, we’ll have to stop someplace.”  


“Okay, Arthur’s out lookin’, I sent him up ahead.”  


Reverend grunts, turning back to your wagon.  


“If we don’t stop soon, we’ll all be dyin’,” says Hosea. “This weather, it’s May. Just hope the law got as lost as we did.”  


You look forward to Dutch’s wagon, which has begun to slow down. In the distance up ahead, through the snow, you can make out the bulky form of someone on a horse. The wagons stop.  


“Arthur!” Dutch calls. “Found anything?”  


“I found a place where we can get some shelter,” Arthur replies in his gruff voice. “Let Davey rest while he, well, ya know. An old minin’ town, abandoned. It ain’t far. This way.”  


He turns Taima with a flick of the reins, going back the way he’d come, urging her to walk.  


“Come on!” Dutch hollers, flicking the reins in his hands, the entire train moving on.  


You travel along the trail for a few moments before, through the dark swirling snow, a small, cold town appears. Half of the buildings are falling apart, their roofs or walls collapsed. The wagons travel down the only road and then stop in the middle of the town; if you could really call it a town.  


The gang exit the wagons, gathering their coats and blankets, wrapping themselves tighter as the blizzard roars angrily around you. Hosea and Dutch briefly discuss whether this is really a suitable place for such a large group of people.  


“What other option do we got?” Dutch asks, placing a gloved hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “My friend, will you go check the place, make sure it’s really abandoned?”  


Hosea nods his head, going to the largest of the building as Bill and Arthur position Davey onto a large wooden board. The old outlaw takes a lantern and pulls his revolver out, pushing open the door with ease. He stands at the doorway, pointing the gun into the corners of the building, checking it’s empty.  


“Bring him here!” he calls to Bill and Arthur. Abigail leads the way out of the cold, followed by the two men carrying the now-silent Davey. You realize that he’s been quiet for some time now.  


They set him down as the rest of the gang shuffles into the building, which is made of one large room with a fireplace at the end. A second one sits on another wall, halfway through the room. A few benches and pews line the walls. Other than that, it is completely empty, illuminated only by the lanterns carried by some of the gang.  


Grimshaw begins ordering people to get fires lit and bring in more blankets. She then orders Pearson to find out about food. You spot Abigail hovering over Davey as you shuffle through the cabin. She straightens up with a somber expression.  


“Davey’s dead,” she announces.  


“There was nothing more you could’ve done,” replies Reverend Swanson, placing two gold dollars over the corpse’s eyes.  


“What are we gonna do, we need supplies?” asks Hosea to Dutch.  


“We are gonna stay here, and you are gonna get yourself warm. Now I have sent John and Micah scouting out ahead. Arthur and I, we’ll ride out, see if we can find ‘em,” Dutch answers.  


“In this?” Arthur gestures to the open door and the tumbling snow beyond it.  


“Just for a short bit,” Dutch says. “I don’t see what other choice we have.”  


Dutch turns and calls the attention of the entire gang. He gestures to Davey’s body, saying how much he loved him, along with Jenny, and how he wishes he could take their place. He then promises that things will be okay, that he and the others will bring in food. “We’re safe now,” he ends. “Now there ain’t no one followin’ us through a storm like this, and by the time they get here, we’re gonna be long gone. We been through worse than this before. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you, get yourselves warm. Stay strong! Stay with me! We ain’t done yet!”  


He calls to Arthur, beckoning him to follow him outside.  


When they’ve left, Grimshaw calls everyone’s attention. “A’right, everyone, we have some work to do.”  


For the next hour or so, Grimshaw and Pearson bark orders, slowly transforming the cabin and the other buildings that haven’t fallen apart into a functional camp. Lenny and Bill take one of the wagons out, along with Davey and Jenny’s bodies to get them buried.  


As you enter one of the buildings across the trail that Grimshaw has said will be the place where most of them men will sleep, you pass a sign with letters. You silently say the letters, trying to piece their sounds together. Mary-Beth trudges through the thick snow behind you with some collapsed cots.  


“What does that say?” you ask her. She narrows her eyes through the darkness, reading the word.  


“It says Colter,” she replies through the thick scarf wrapped around her head.  


The two of you exit the small cabin just as Lenny calls out that someone’s coming. He points his repeater, then drops it when he realizes it’s Dutch, Arthur with a new horse, and Micah. On the back of Dutch’s white horse sits a woman in nothing but her chemise and a thin blanket. Hosea comes out, asking Dutch how things went.  


“Micah found a homestead, but he weren’t the first,” Dutch replies. Colm O’Driscoll beat us to it. We found some of ‘em still there. There’s more about, apparently, scoutin’ a train.”  


“That’s the last thing we need right now, Dutch,” Hosea tells him.  


“Well, that’s the way it is,” he answers, dismounting. “We found some supplies, some food, and this poor soul, Mrs. Adler.”  


He gestures to the woman, Grimshaw and Abigail standing by her sides. He beckons to Tilly, Karen and yourself, asking to get her warmed up and something to drink or eat. He calls after her telling her she’s safe. Molly approaches him with a lantern, bundled tightly.  


“They turned her into a widow. Animals,” you hear him say as you help lead the new woman, a tall blond, into the main cabin. “I need some rest, I haven’t slept in three days.”  


You take Mrs. Adler’s hand, guiding her to a bench near the door. Abigail returns to you carrying a bundle of clothes and blankets. Quickly, you both help Mrs. Adler dress, wrapping her up tightly in the quilts. She’s shivering, tears leaking out of her eyes.  


You help her sit on the bench, still holding her hand, which she clutches onto like a lifeline. Mary-Beth comes to her, holding a steaming mug of liquid. Mrs. Adler shakes her head.  


“Have some of this, then,” Karen offers her a bottle of amber liquid. “Put a fire in your belly.”  


Once again, Mrs. Adler denies her. You wrap your other hand around hers, looking at her sadly.  


“Do you mind me askin’,” you ask quietly. “What happened?”  


Mrs. Adler swallows hard, fresh tears streaking down her face. “They showed up at my house three days ago, and they…” she chokes down a sob. “They killed my husband.”


	5. Just Friends

Warnings: swearing, angst, mild fluff  
Word Count: ~5000

For the remainder of the night, you and the other women help try to care for Mrs. Adler, who you find is named Sadie. She hasn’t stopped crying, which everyone can understand. Despite the both of you being widows, you feel massively inferior to her. It’s clear she loved her husband dearly; he must have been a good man. You’re glad when Tilly offers to take your place, claiming you should go try to sleep. You feel as though you’re the last person Sadie would want to be even near.  


Morning comes, snowy and cold, although it seems to be letting up. Hosea comes in, and Abigail approaches him.  


“Has John come back yet?” she asks him, the worry creasing her forehead.  


“Not yet, Abigail,” Hosea answers somberly. “As far as I know, he’s still out there.”  


“He ain’t been seen in days!”  


Arthur strolls in, shaking himself from the cold.  


“He’s strong, and he’s smart. Strong at least,” Abigail says, greeting Arthur. “How you doin’?”  


Arthur, warming his hands next to the fireplace, turns and stares at her with a curious expression. One that says he knows she’s going to ask him for a favor.  


“Just fine, Abigail. And you?”  


“I’m sorry to ask but…”  


Arthur cuts her off. “It’s little John. He’s got himself caught in a scrape again.”  


“He ain’t been seen in two days!”  


“You’re John’ll be fine! I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks and dull as rusted iron, but that ain’t changin’ because he got caught in some snowstorm!”  


Hosea approaches. “At least go take a look. Javier? Will you ride out with Arthur?”  


Javier, wearing a thick poncho, stands up. “I know if the situation were reversed, he’d look for me.”  


He hands Arthur a sawed-off shotgun, who takes it impatiently. He glances at you, then turns to leave. You almost wish you could go with them to get out of this cabin, but the wind howls outside the door, reminding you of the thick storm still raging outside. The two men leave, Abigail thanking them.  


Near an hour passes until you hear Arthur calling outside, asking for help. Hosea, Abigail, Lenny, and you rush outside. You fear the worst for a moment, until you see John settled on the back of Javier’s horse. His face is badly scratched and bleeding, and you can tell by his posture he’s half frozen. Lenny and Hosea help pull him off his horse, which causes him to grunt loudly in pain.  


“Be careful, idiotas!” Javier calls. “It’s his leg.”  


Abigail profusely thanks both men, and then helps the others half carry, half walk John into the cabin.  


“This is a new low, even by your standards!” you hear her snarl at John.  


You approach Arthur, who seems unscathed.  


“You a’right?” you ask him.  


He dismounts his horse, grabbing his reins.  


“Ah, I’m fine. He got nicked by a wolf after they got his horse.”  


“Well, at least you two found him in time.”  


You walk with Arthur through the thick snow as he leads his new horse to the hitching post.  


“Is there anything you need?” you ask him, not wanting to go back to the cabin to hear John’s moaning mixed with Sadie’s tears.  


“Nah, I’m fine. Best get yourself indoors, don’t want ya freezin’ on us,” he pats your shoulder.  


You nod your head, turning back to the cabin, feeling slightly defeated.

Two days pass and the weather finally breaks, but the entire camp is on the verge of starving since there’s almost no food. You’re standing near an old blacksmith’s fire pit where Pearson has set up his station under a wooden canopy outside the crumbling stable, trying to help wherever you can. Arthur strolls in, standing next to you to warm his hands over the fire.  


“We’re going to starve up here, Mr. Morgan,” the cook says. “We have a few cans of food and a rabbit for, what, twelve people? I wasn’t able to get supplies in when we fled Blackwater!”  


“Well, when government agents are huntin’ ya down, sometimes shoppin’ trips need to be cut short!” Arthur says as Pearson hauls the cast iron pot over the fire where you’re warming your hands. You can hear the little amount of food sloshing around inside of it. “We’ll survive, we always have. And if needs be, we can eat you, yer the fattest.”  


You stifle a chuckle, pretending to wipe your nose. Pearson turns, looking annoyed.  


“I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing!”  


“Well, Lenny’s more into book learning than huntin’, Bill’s a fool.”  


Charles walks over to the pair of you, still nursing his bandaged hand.  


“Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read…”  


Charles cuts him off. “Enough of this. We’ll go hunting.”  


He turns to leave, calling Arthur to follow him.  


“You need to rest, Charles,” Arthur says, looking worried.  


“You think this is rest? I can’t stay here and listen to you argue! Come along.”  


“I’ll come with you,” you finally say, approaching the two men. Arthur looks at you, and you think he’s going to send you back to the cabin with the others.  


“Sounds good,” Charles says. “She can be a second bow. My hand’s still useless. Stupid mistake.”  


“A’right. Come on, then,” Arthur says.  


You turn and tell Pearson you’ll find something, following the two men while wrapping your coat tighter around you. You pat Rain happily, having not seen her in days. She snorts in greeting. You double check your bow is still in place, then mount the buckskin, following Arthur on his dark bay paint and Charles on Taima.  


The three of you go on for nearly a quarter of an hour, approaching a fast-running stream. The snow has stopped, a weak sun peaking through the clouds. The snow sparkles all around you, your breath forming tiny crystals in the air. Charles mentions that game will have to come out to feed now that the storm has settled.  


The three of you dismount, you and Arthur both pulling your bows and arrows. You spot the unmistakable slot marks of deer. You point them out to Arthur and begin following the tracks through a grove of trees and towards the river. Just as you’re about to leave the trees, you spot two does grazing near the river. You motion to Arthur, beckoning to them.  


Both of you notch an arrow and shoot them, bringing both deer down.  


“We should grab one more,” you say. “Let’s try across the river.”  


“A’right,” Arthur says. You hadn’t realized he’d come so close to you. The two of you quietly run towards the river, crossing it. You hiss slightly as the freezing water courses over your boots, chilling your feet. You spot a few more deer, stripping bark from the trees a few yards from the bank. Before you can even get an arrow out, Arthur shoots and takes one down, the others bolting into the trees.  


“A’right, think that’s all we can carry,” Charles says from the trees where you both shot the first deer. You whistle for Rain, going to the other side of the river, picking up the deer you shot.  


After all the deer are strapped tightly to a horse, the three of you head back to camp, coming across nothing except a Grizzly bear, foraging for what little food he can find. You all give him a wide berth, Rain snorting in fear. Along the way back to camp, you hear Arthur and Charles discuss a rival gang called the O’Driscolls, who Arthur says are responsible for Mrs. Adler’s fate.  


Upon arriving at camp, Pearson darts out of the old stalls where the fire pit sits, praising the three of you on your hunt as you cart in the deer. You see Uncle sitting by the pit, nursing a bottle.  


“What a surprise to find a camp rat loitering around the place,” Arthur says after hoisting his deer onto his shoulder and depositing it onto the floor near the fire.  


“I feel like we ain’t spoken in days,” the old man says in a gruff voice.  


“I do my utmost to avoid you, now get outta here.”  


“Ah, he loves me really, ‘s just his sad way of showin’ it,” he says as he leaves, tipping his bottle.  


Pearson approaches the three of you, warming your hands over the fire once more.  


“Have a drink, y’all earned it,” he says. Arthur takes a swig, handing it to you.  


“Jesus! What is that?” he says as you drink, coughing as the harsh liquid sets your throat on fire.  


“Navy rum! Keeps you sane, it does,” Pearson chuckles.  


“I can see it’s done a treat on you.”  


“I’ll see you later,” Charles says, putting down the bottle of rum as he leaves.  


“You two mind helpin’ me with the skinning?”  


“Only long as we get to skin you,” Arthur grins at him, you smile as you look at him. You’ve come to realize how much you’ve enjoyed this man’s company. More than the others.  


“Always one with the jokes, aren’t ya?” Pearson glares. “C’mon.”  


The three of you skin the deer, Arthur hoisting one up on a rack to drain. He pats Pearson’s shoulder. “Just make a good stew, folk need it.”  


He turns to you, beckoning you to follow him. Once you’re out of earshot of Pearson, he stops you.  


“You a’right?”  


You look into his blue eyes, hidden beneath his hat. “Of course, why?”  


“I dunno, ya just seem like ya don’t wanna be in that cabin.”  


You glance to where the others are sheltered, shuffling your feet slightly in the snow. You wonder how to phrase what you’re feeling, or if he’ll even understand.  


“Ya can tell me, y’know?” he says, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder.  


“I just, I…” you pause for a moment. “I don’t feel like I can be around that Mrs. Adler anymore. It’s just, it’s heartbreaking. She must have really loved him, her husband, for her to be this messed up. I can’t sit in there, the only other widow, when my husband died by my own hands.”  


Arthur stares at you for a moment with a soft expression. His hand tightens slightly. “Do you regret it? Killin’ him, I mean.”  


You shake your head. “No, that bastard had it coming. But I can’t sit there with her, tainted as I am.”  


He sighs heavily. “Well, why don’t ya come sit with me in my cabin then? There’s room enough for one more.”  


You stare up at him, feeling slightly shocked. “Arthur, I didn’t mean… I don’t want you to feel like you have to accomodate me.  


“Ain’t accomodatin’, miss, just tryin’ to help. C’mon,” he says, moving his hand to your back, between your shoulder blades. You feel a warmth in your chest at his touch as he guides you to the cabin he shares with Dutch, Hosea, and Molly. 

Over the next few days, you spend most of your time in the cabin with Arthur, only leaving to go sleep in the cabin with the others. Hosea picks you back up on reading, encouraging you to pass the time on learning the skill. Arthur helps you with writing, showing you some glimpses of his journal. He also starts teaching you how to sketch, having you start with simple objects lying around the cabin, like a can of peaches or the nightstand in the corner of the main room.  


One afternoon, he challenges you to a drawing contest to which you originally try turning him down on. “You’re way too good for me, Arthur. Even if I’d been drawing for years, I’m sure you’d be better than me.”  


“Ah, c’mon. It’ll be fun!” He leans towards you, speaking quietly. “How about we draw Ms. O’Shea?”  


You glance at the heavily bundled red headed woman standing in Dutch’s room, staring into her pocket mirror. You giggle lightly, then take him up on the challenge.  


After a few moments, you compare your drawing with Arthur, which is more than pathetic compared to the outlaw’s. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh.  


“Looks good!” he says, smiling.  


“Go ahead and laugh,” you smirk at him. “It looks like crap, we both know it.”  


You both chuckle, tossing your drawings into the fire. Molly turns and glares at you, unimpressed by how loud you’re both being. Hosea walks in then.  


“Arthur, will you go and check on the boys real quick? Y/N, let’s start readin’ again.”  


Arthur pats you on the shoulder as he stands up, walking out the door and back into the cold. Hosea pulls out your book, handing it to you as he takes up Arthur’s seat. 

Hours pass, and night comes. Arthur still hasn’t returned from a job he’s working with Dutch and the other men. Something to do with the O’Driscolls. You sit near the fire, staring into the glowing embers near Hosea. You hear the pounding of hooves outside the cabin. Going out into the frozen darkness, you see everyone except Arthur has returned. 

You suddenly fear that something went wrong.  


“Where’s Arthur?” you ask Charles. “Did something…”  


“He’s fine, went to go pick up a runaway O’Driscoll,” he replies.  


The others begin going back inside the cabins, Dutch talking to Hosea, something about a train. He shows Hosea a large roll of paper as they close the door. You stay outside, staring off into the night, hoping.  


Several moments pass with no sign of him. You turn to go back inside the cabin when you hear a horse coming towards you, snorting heavily. Arthur’s new paint approaches you through the gloom, his outline in the darkness is distorted by something on the back of his horse. You greet him as he stops next to you, hopping off his mount. You can see the thing he has tied on the back is a man, squirming against his bonds.  


“Hey there, Y/N. Here we are, ya sack of shit,” he says to the hostage. “Let’s introduce you to the boys.”  


He heaves the man onto his shoulder, walking towards the cabin.  


“Don’t hurt me, please!” the man begs in a shaky and desperate voice.  


“You found the little shit, did ya?” Dutch asks as he comes out of the cabin. Arthur drops the man into the snow and cuts the bonds wrapping his feet together.  


“Welcome to your new home,” Dutch taunts him. “Hope you’re real happy here!”  


Arthur’s face is dark as he picks the man up onto his feet. “You want me to make him talk?”  


“No, now all we’ll get is lies,” Dutch says, asking Bill and Uncle to tie the man up and to make him hungry. “I gotta sayin’, son,” he says, approaching the frightened hostage, glaring into his eyes. “We shoot fellers as need shootin’, save fellers as need savin’, and feed ‘em as need feedin’. We are goin’ to find out what you need.”  


Bill and Uncle cart him off, chuckling. Dutch calls out, “I can’t believe it! An O’Driscoll in my camp!”  


“I ain’t an O’Driscoll, mister!” the hostage yells back. “I… I hate that feller!”  


“Whatever you say, son!”  


Arthur chuckles, hitching his horse up and then approaching you. He calls after Dutch. “I’m sorry we missed out on Colm.”  


“There’ll be time for that!” Dutch answers, going back into the cabin. “Now, we need to figure out this train.”  


He closes the door after Hosea, leaving you and Arthur alone in the darkness. He turns to you.  


“Ya a’right? Look like yer frozen,” he says.  


“I’m fine,” you smile up at him. “I was just worried when you didn’t come back with the others. Thought somethin’ bad happened.”  


“Ah, ya ain’t gotta worry about me, Y/N, I’ll always come back.”

It’s near midday, the sun has been out all morning and the snow has begun to melt, thawing out the frozen wagons. Arthur and you sit inside the cabin with Hosea. Dutch sits in his room with Molly, looking over the stolen plans for the train. The three of you sit beside the fire, eating plates of stew. You’re going to need to go hunting again; the stew is lacking on meat. Arthur finishes his and stands up.  


“Gonna go check on John,” he grunts, tightening the coat around him. “Make shoar he’s holdin’ up.”  


He leaves you with Hosea and Dutch. After a few moments, Dutch comes out of his room, holding the long roll of paper he’d stolen from the O’Driscoll camp.  


“Think it’s time, old friend,” he says to Hosea. “Now I’m going to go get the others, meet me outside.”  


“Dutch, I ain’t too sure…” Hosea begins saying, but Dutch has already walked out of the cabin. He glances at you, you shrug. The two of you get up and go outside into the melting snow.  


Bill, Charles, Lenny, Micah and Javier are saddling up, but Dutch and Arthur are still inside the cabin, speaking to John. You glance inside and catch a glimpse of him, his face wrapped up in a bloody bandage, still lying on the cot. Arthur and Dutch trudge out of the cabin, closing the door on Abigail and her son Jack. Dutch starts talking about the train job he’s been planning.  


“Why are we doin’ this?” Hosea demands, approaching him. “Weather’s breaking, we could leave. I thought we was tryin’ to lie low.”  


“What do you want from me, Hosea?” Dutch demands, approaching the Count.  


“I just don’t want anymore folks to die, Dutch.”  


“We need money, everything’s back in Blackwater. Fancy goin’ back out there?”  


“No. I just thought we were gonna stick to the plan, get the money and head back out west. Now, suddenly, we’re about to rob a train.”  


“What choice have we got?” Dutch asks him gently.  


“Look, Dutch, I ain’t tryin’ to undermine ya, but Leviticus Cornwall is no joke. He’s a big railway magnate, oil man, sugar dealer.”  


“Well, then sounds like he has more than enough to share.”  


“Dutch!”  


He cuts Hosea off. “Gentlemen! Get your horses ready! We have a train to rob!”  


He and Arthur mount their horses, turning them down the path and storming down the trail, leading the others down it. You and Hosea watch them disappear into the cold mist.  


“I’m sure things’ll be okay,” you turn to Hosea. He shakes his head and starts walking back into the cabin. You almost follow him, but then go into the cabin with the others.  


You open the door. Karen and Mary-Beth greet you from both sides of Sadie, who sits in an almost paralyzed silence. Grimshaw turns in her seat and glares at you.  


“Where you been, girl? Hardly seen you the last few days. We coulda used your help!”  


You hang your head slightly, not at all regretting spending the last few days with Arthur. “Sorry, Susan. I was with Arthur and Hosea.”  


You can tell by her face as she turns away she won’t say anything further. She tends to leave people alone when they’re with Arthur, Hosea, or Dutch. On the other end of the cabin, you hear John gasp slightly as Abigail adjusts his bandage. Jack sits near the fire place, playing with a stick. You turn to Sadie, fidgeting with your hands.  


“Mrs. Adler, I’ll go huntin’ again soon, have some fresh meat for the stew.”  


She gazes up at you, tears in the bottom of her eyes. She suddenly breaks. “I don’t care anymore.”  


You sit down on the other side of a tightly bundled Karen, who muffles through a thick scarf, offering you a bottle. You gladly take it. She lowers her scarf so she can talk to you properly.  


“You been spendin’ a lot of time with Arthur lately,” she says with a sly look.  


“Yeah, he and Hosea are just helpin’ me with reading and writing.”  


Her grin widens and you know what she’s getting at.  


“Shut up,” you can feel yourself blushing. “We’re just friends.” 

The men who left on the job with Dutch don’t return until well past nightfall. Dutch seems excited. Seems the take from the train was good. Arthur doesn’t return until ten minutes after the others. You’re starting to realize there’s a pattern to these jobs; you hope it won’t lead to trouble in the future.  


By morning, Hosea inspects the wagons, declaring the snow has melted enough that you can leave. With that, Grimshaw immediately starts barking at everyone, getting them to pack up. Not that there’s much to do. Most of the supplies were never unloaded from the wagons, aside from Pearson’s cooking materials, a few cots, and a mountain of blankets.  


By mid-morning, the camp is mostly packed. Dutch, Arthur and Hosea stand near one of the wagons as Bill hands Lenny a box.  


“I know this country we’re goin’ to a little,” Hosea says to Dutch. “We should set up camp in Horseshoe Overlook by Valentine. We’ll be able to hide there no problem.”  


“Well, then let’s go!” Dutch says.  


Charles and Javier lift John up into the back of one of the covered wagons while Micah tosses the hostage into the other. Arthur and Hosea climb into the driver’s seat of an uncovered wagon in the back of the line. Charles gets into the back of it, and you go with him. You’re glad not to be in the covered wagons with the others, able to enjoy the sunshine for the first time in a week. The train starts on down the path.  


You glance back at the still half-frozen town of Colter. You silently hope you never have to come back here.  


After a few moments, the train travels along the shores of the frozen lake you saw on the way in. The sun gleams upon every surface around you; the snow winks its light back to it. You swear you can almost hear a longing tune coming from the forest itself, as though the trees are singing for the coming peace of Spring’s warmth.  


The train goes into thicker forests, and the snow’s receding from the land. Dutch calls Micah and Lenny to him, ordering them to go scouting ahead. The wagons move on, crossing a fast river. To the right ahead, you see a wide and roaring waterfall. The wagon you’re in starts to cross the river; you feel one side of the wagon begin to shake precariously. Just as it hits the other shore, the left back wheel rolls off; you and Charles are jerked around suddenly as the corner falls to the dirt. Arthur curses as some supplies fall towards the roaring river.  


“Everything a’right back there?” Bill yells from up ahead on the wagon ahead of yours. “What happened?”  


“Ah, I broke the goddamn wheel!” Arthur shouts.  


The three men hop off and start repairing the wagon while you go and grab the supplies that have fallen off. Just as Arthur is tightening the wheel back on, you see Hosea and Charles glance up at a ledge, high above the river on the other side. You follow their eyes and see three people on horseback. Squinting, you can tell they’re from a tribe of Natives. Arthur, unbuttoning his coat, approaches the three of you.  


“What you think?” he says quietly.  


“If they wanted trouble, we wouldn’t have seen ‘em,” Charles states. Hosea raises an arm in greeting as you and the other two get back into the wagon.  


“Poor bastards. We really screwed them over,” he says, climbing back into the front with Arthur, who tosses the reins, and the horses carry on.  


Arthur guides the wagon along the trail, through a wide, green canyon, cut by the river you had just crossed. He, Hosea and Charles talk about the politics of the treatment of Native Americans over the years. You don’t join in, knowing little about it yourself. Instead, you feast your eyes upon the beauty surrounding you. The thick forest giving way to grassland just before reaching the river, with its rocky shores and sandbars covered in waterfowl.  


You hear the conversation between the three turn to Dutch. Hosea mentions how he and Arthur tried telling him the ferry job didn’t feel right back in Blackwater.  


“Things go wrong sometimes, people die,” Arthur says in his deep voice. “That’s the way it is, always has been.”  


“It just ain’t like Dutch to lose his head like that.”  


“We been at this line of work a long time. I figure we gotten it right a hell of a lot more than we gotten it wrong.”  


Arthur guides the wagon out of the canyon, up to the ridges overlying it. You see in the distance ahead where the trees grow thick together a man who looks like Javier waiting. Arthur leads the wagon to the trees and Javier greets him. “Slow up, I’ll jump on!”  


Arthur brings the wagon to a stop and Javier climbs onto the back, hanging onto the side close to you. You greet him warmly. You’ve had few interactions with the man, but you’ve always enjoyed when he plays his guitar and sings.  


Arthur drives the wagon up a nearly hidden trail through the trees, thick bushes and ferns until you can see a clearing on top of the rise. The other wagons are already there, getting unloaded, Pearson and Grimshaw marching around, yelling out orders. You get off the wagon and approach Hosea just as he’s climbing off.  


“This seems like a good spot,” you say.  


“Home sweet home. For now anyways.”  


“This place is perfect!” Dutch hollers, walking towards you, Hosea and Arthur. Just as Hosea turns to talk to him, Grimshaw stomps towards you, grabbing you hard by the elbow.  


“There you are! We need your help and you’re just showin’ up!”  


She shoves you towards one of the wagons near Tilly and Karen. “Now get to work!”  


You massage your arm where she grabbed you, walking towards the other girls who are unloading crates and boxes.  


“Mean old goat,” you mutter under your breath, bending down to help.  


After a few moments of unpacking and organizing, you hear Dutch call for everyone’s attention near the center of camp. You and the other girls walk over there to hear him better. He’s standing at the entrance of his tent, which has already been set up and situated.  


“I know that things have been tough,” he says. “But we’re safe now, and we are far too poor.”  


“It is time to get to work, but stay out of trouble,” Hosea joins in. “Remember, we are itinerant workers laid off by the oil factory.”  


“Now get out there and make us some money!” Dutch calls, lighting a cigar.  


“There’s an old livestock town down the way there, all mud and morons if I remember right.”  


“We’re running low on food. Someone needs to go out hunting again!” he gestures towards you and Arthur, standing close together.  


“Now go on, and be sensible out there!” Dutch dismisses you.  


You turn to Arthur. “We have your tent ready.”  


He looks at you and smiles softly. “Well, why don’t ya show me?”  


You smile back and lead him to his tented wagon, set up just the way it was back in Bison Point. You look at a small box with the few possessions he has. A glass cylinder with a flower inside of it and several photos, including one of a dog, a man wearing the same hat he wears now, and one of him, Hosea, and Dutch from many years ago. You see below two framed photos, one of a woman who looks like it could be Arthur’s mother, and one of another woman you don’t recognize.  


“Everything from Blackwater got saved,” you say, turning back to the outlaw.  


“Everything apart from my money,” he grumbles.  


“Don’t remind me,” you huff.  


“Guess we’re just gonna have to make more money. Where they settin’ you up?”  


You point to a spot not far from Arthur’s tent, just a few yards south of Dutch’s tent. You’ve already placed your tent and bedroll, even though they haven’t been set up yet. Over by the wagons, you suddenly hear Grimshaw screaming at Tilly.  


“Ms. Jackson! I’ve seen shit with more common sense than you!”  


Arthur chuckles as he starts removing his coat. You still wear yours, not having had time to remove it. “Sounds like Susan’s got quite a lot of work for ya,” he says.  


“She’s itching to be as tight-winded as a tornado,” you reply, sighing as she marches her way over to you. You rush over to the wagons near Mary-Beth and Karen before she can bruise your elbow again.  


By the time the sun has set, the camp is mostly unloaded. To say you’re exhausted is an understatement, but you stand on the ridge of Horseshoe Overlook, gazing out over the canyon and winding river. You hear someone approaching you, and you turn to see it’s Arthur. He hands you a tin plate of stew, which you take gratefully.  


He stands quietly next to you for several moments, the both of you eating in silence.  


“Well, this place’ll do for now,” he finally says.  


You sigh, feeling content. “I rather like it here. It’s so pretty.”  


If you hadn’t been busy staring into the colors above the horizon from the setting sun, you might have seen him glance at you, his blue eyes soft as he studied your features.


	6. The Coming of the Storm

Warnings: swearing, angst, blood, violence  
Word count: ~9650

Two weeks have gone by since your arrival to Horseshoe Overlook. The camp is now up and fully functional. When you haven’t been in camp helping Grimshaw or Pearson, you and Arthur have been out hunting. While most of the meat you get from hunting goes to Pearson, you and the outlaw often stop in Valentine to sell the pelts and horns of the bucks, rams and elk you’ve killed.  


You head into Valentine now on Rain with Arthur and his paint horse, who he still hasn’t named, both loaded with pelts. You wrinkle your nose at the heavy odor of livestock animals all throughout the town. For some reason, the roads are always muddy. The people seem simple enough though. You’re sure if you had to go out robbing any of them, it would be easy enough.  


You both bring your horses to a stop near the butcher’s outside the Saint’s Hotel and sell him your pelts. Arthur counts his money quickly, then declares he’s going to go into the shop and buy a few things. You agree to meet him in the saloon next to the shop.  


You trudge your way through the thick mud and up the steps into the saloon. Since it’s late in the morning, it’s relatively empty, except for a couple of men at the poker table, and a couple more scattered throughout. One of them in the back near the barber looks like a trapper. He’s wearing a mountain of furs with a raccoon hat, his face covered by a wild, tangled beard.  


You go to the bartender and order a shot of whisky while you wait for Arthur. Several moments go by, and the doors swing open. You turn to see if it’s him, but instead it’s two young men. From their clothes and the mud that splatters them, you’re sure they’re ranch hands. Probably brought in some livestock to sell and are here for a drink before they return to wherever they came from. They spot you on your lonesome leaning against the bar.  


“Well, looky here, George,” one of them nudges the other. He stares at you, and the look in his eye makes you feel anxious. “Ain’t seen a fine thing like this in some time!”  


The last word you would use to describe yourself would be ‘fine’, seeing as you haven’t had a proper bath in days. Your hair’s dishevelled, and your shirt and jeans are covered in dirt from hunting. You’re sure you don’t smell the best either.  


“You’re sure right, Jeremiah!” the other one says, looking towards you as well. They both approach you, smiling.  


“Hey there, little lady,” the one named Jeremiah says, leaning against the bar next to you as you shoot back your drink. “How much for me to get one afternoon with ya?”  


You glare at him. “I ain’t a workin’ girl, mister. You want one of them, feast your eyes on the women over there,” you motion to the two girls standing at the back of the saloon, fanning themselves.  


Jeremiah takes a step back to look at them, then he leans towards you again. “Who said I thought you was a workin’ girl?”  


“I ain’t for sale, mister!” you snarl, turning to face him head on. “And I sure ain’t spending an afternoon with you, money or not.”  


“Hey, that ain’t no way for a girl to talk,” George says, getting closer to you.  


“Well, apparently I have to, since neither of you seem to understand the meanin’ of the word no.”  


George’s face darkens and you can tell he’s thinking of hitting you. It’s a face you saw many times on your husband. You prepare to brace yourself.  


“Easy there, fellers,” Arthur says, walking up from behind them, coming to stand next to you. His brow is heavy over his eyes, darkening them. “If you really want her, yer gonna have to go through me.”  


The two men size Arthur up; he’s much larger than them.  


“Ah, she ain’t worth it,” Jeremiah shoots, waving his hand at you. They both turn away and start talking to the bartender.  


You thank Arthur and then notice he’s wearing a new outfit. Black button-up shirt under a stamped red leather vest and a dark green shotgun coat. Dark jeans tucked into black leather half-chaps and black boots. You avert your eyes from his chest, which is slightly exposed under the shirt since he’s left the top two buttons undone and his collar popped up. He still wears his old hat, though.  


The two of you turn and order more drinks from the bartender, the two men who had just been harassing you leaving the saloon. You order two more shots. “His is on me,” you say.  


“Nah, ya ain’t gotta buy my drinks, Y/N,” he tries to argue.  


“Arthur, please. Let me do this for you, since you got rid of those guys.”  


He drinks his shot, grunting at the burn. “What they want, anyways?”  


“A paid afternoon,” you drink quickly.  


“Those sons of bitches. Glad I got here when I did, sounds like they weren’t too keen on leavin’ ya be.”  


“Pretty sure you’re right. Nice outfit, by the way.”  


He chuckles. “Ah, it was time. Been makin’ enough money from all the huntin’ we been doin’ the last few days.”  


“Well, I like it.”  


You can’t tell if he’s blushing or not, but he hides his face with the tip of his hat. The two of you have a couple more drinks, then Arthur orders the both of you some lamb’s fry.  


“Ya ain’t gotta buy my food, Arthur, I have enough for it myself.”  


“I want to. S’too late now,” he smirks at you. God, he could be so stubborn.  


You both take to a table and eat. You’re grateful to finally have a meal you don’t either have to cook yourself or that comes out of Pearson’s pot.  


The two of you finish and walk out of the saloon. You look to the hotel and see a sign offering baths. Your skin suddenly begins to itch, as though your entire body is hungry for some hot water.  


“I’m going to go get myself cleaned up. Meet you at camp?”  


“Ya sure ya don’t want me to wait for ya?”  


“Arthur, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna. I ain’t makin’ you do nothin’.”  


“S’a’right, I’ll wait. I was gonna go look at horses anyways.”  


You glance to his paint hitched outside of the hotel.  


“What’s wrong with that one?”  


Arthur looks at it as well. “Well, nothin’, but it just don’t feel right to be ridin’ a horse from Mrs. Adler’s home. I talked to her earlier, she said I could do whatever I want with it. Still, I might get a different one.”  


You nod your head and go into the hotel, paying 25 cents for a bath. You head into the washroom and sink into the long tub, moaning audibly as the hot water laps at your skin.  


While your scrubbing your hair, a knock comes to the door. For a second, your stomach clenches at the thought of it maybe being Arthur, but then a woman’s voice rings through the door.  


“Need someone to take over for you?” she asks. You breathe out heavily.  


“Nah thanks, I’m doin’ okay.”  


“No worries! Just doin’ my job.”  


You quickly scrub the rest of your body and then sit a few moments, letting your skin soak up the water. You finally decide it’s time to get out and stand up, drying yourself off. You head out of the room and down the hall and see Arthur’s in the lobby, sitting down in a chair.  


“What are you doin’?” you ask. “Thought you was lookin’ at horses?”  


“I was, but they ain’t got anythin’ really worth lookin’ at right now. Stable master says he’s short on horses to buy for now.”  


“Ya didn’t have to wait here for me, though.”  


“Ya always this bossy, miss?”  


For a second you stare hard at him, then the both of you start laughing as you leave the hotel. You mount your horses and head back to camp.  


When you get back, Hosea’s sitting on a rock holding a huge, scoped rifle. He calls Arthur over to him. You hitch Rain next to a massive black shire, who snorts almost angrily as you dismount your horse. You give him a wide berth, not wanting to be kicked.  


You head on over to Pearson and give him the things you didn’t sell, including a perfect elk pelt. Grimshaw heads over to you, huffing.  


“Glad to see your back, Ms. Y/L/N, but I need you to go help the other girls.”  


She leads you to the tented wagons where the others sit. You see the three girls gathered around the canvas that usually covers Hosea’s, Charles’s and Bill’s bedrolls, which seems to have split nearly all the way down the middle. It had rained hard last night, so you’re not surprised the water tore it.  


You pass Arthur and Hosea, standing near the black shire. Arthur mounts the tall horse.  


“Ya really gonna ride that thing?” you ask him.  


“Gonna give it a try, anyways.”  


“Don’t worry,” Hosea calls. “He’s as sweet as a kitten as long as I’m around.”  


You chuckle at the face Arthur makes, you can tell Hosea hasn’t given him any confidence.  


“You goin’ huntin’ again?” you ask as he pats the horse.  


“Hosea says there’s a giant bear near some lake. We’re gonna try to get it.”  


“Okay, be safe.”  


The two men wave at you as they turn their horses and head down the trail, yelling at Lenny that they might be gone a few days.

It’s early the next morning, and you’re on guard duty. You were set on it last night just after sunset by Dutch. You wait patiently, yawning widely, for the next person to come and relieve you. You hear two horses approaching. Hosea comes up the trail on Silver Dollar, and behind him Arthur on a brand new horse. He stops the horse next to you.  


She’s huge; an iron gray Ardennes war horse. She flicks her black tail.  


“What ya think?” Arthur asks, leaning down on the horn of his saddle.  


“What happened to the shire?”  


“Ah, stable master was offerin’ a lot of money for that kind of horse, so I sold him. Someone had just brought this girl in, so I figured what the hell?”  


You let her sniff your hand and then offer her a beet. You pat her head softly. “She have a name?”  


“Artemis.”  


“Pretty.”  


Just then, Charles comes towards you. “I’m here to take your spot.”  


You nod appreciatively, offering him the repeater. Just as you’re about to go back into camp, Arthur calls your attention.  


“Lemme give you a ride,” he offers you his hand.  


At first you think of saying no, but then you decide to take him up on his offer. You reach up, grasping his arm. He heaves you up easily as though you weigh nothing. You swing your leg over Artemis’ wide hind quarters, and Arthur pushes her into a steady trot.  


He hitches the grey horse to the post and dismounts, raising his arms up to help you off. Even though you don’t need it, you oblige. He sets you down easily, smiling at you. You thank him, then stifle another yawn.  


“Think I’m gonna go get some rest,” you say. “I hate overnight guarding.”  


“Sounds good. Lemme know if you need anything,” the outlaw says, heading over to Pearson’s wagon.  


Just as you’re passing Dutch’s large tent to go to your own, you see him sitting under the canvas canopy next to his tent. He snaps his book shut as he hears you approaching.  


“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N. Off guard duty, I see.”  


“Yes, sir,” you say, stopping.  


He stands up and walks over to you.  


“Seems like you’re pretty happy here with us. I must admit, I had my doubts about you back at Bison Point.”  


He stops, you wonder if he’s waiting for you to talk.  


“Yes, sir. I’m pretty happy here.”  


“Good. Well, I think you’re debt to us has been settled. Pearson says you and Arthur bring in almost more food than everyone else combined.”  


You smile at him. “You mean I could leave?”  


He sighs heavily. “If that’s what you really wanted, as long as I know you’d never tell anyone about us.”  


“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, sir. I don’t want to leave. I ain’t been this happy in years.”  


He straightens up, smiling. “Well, good. It’s been nice havin’ you ‘round. I can tell Arthur appreciates your company.”  


You hide your face with your hat, trying to hide the blush. “I’ve enjoyed his.”  


“And Hosea. He likes you. Says you’re a good kid.”  


“Well, I know a few people who’d disagree, ‘cept they’re all dead.”  


Dutch chuckles deeply. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found a place among us, miss.”  


He walks away, going back to his canopy and opening his book again. You head off to your tent, feeling happy and light. 

The next day, you’re standing next to Karen by her tent, enjoying a cup of coffee in the early morning. You spot Arthur strolling past, carrying a hay bale to the horses. He tips his hat towards the two of you when he sets it down and then approaches one of the wagons where Uncle can be seen sitting beside it, snoozing.  


“Ugh, I need to get out of this place,” Karen complains. “You been lucky Arthur’s takin’ ya out huntin’ so much. I swear, I hear that woman’s voice one more time…”  


You smile and laugh, taking a sip of your coffee when you overhear Arthur and Uncle talking about heading into Valentine. Karen must hear, too, she starts to approach him. Mary-Beth and Tilly follow a step or two behind her.  


“Hey, if yer takin’ the old man into town, ya mind takin’ us, too?” she asks him as he lights a cigarette.  


“Why? What you got goin’ on?”  


“Nothin’.”  


“We just need to get out,” says Mary-Beth. You finish your coffee and walk over to the small group. “Karen’s ‘bout ready to murder Grimshaw.”  


Arthur huffs. “Can Ms. Grimshaw spare you?”  


“Can Ms. Grimshaw spare you?” Karen mocks. “What’s happened to you, Arthur? Four, young healthy women wanna get out robbin’ and yer worried about domestic chores? Let’s go!”  


“Ya got me,” he smiles.  


The others celebrate for a moment, climbing into the wagon, you following. You swear Arthur winks at you when he passes you. He climbs into the front with old Uncle and whips the horses. They begin moving down the trail, and Uncle suggests a song, to which the other girls start singing but you’ve never heard before, so you just listen.  


As the trail approaches the train tracks, a stage coach drawn by two large horses speeds along it ahead of your wagon. You can tell the driver’s lost control. Sure enough, a moment later the horses break loose and dash off the trail.  


Arthur pulls the wagon to a stop and walks up to the man, who asks him if he’ll help and retrieve one of the horses. You smile fondly at him when he walks away, grabbing the spooked horse and guiding it back to the man.  


“Thank you kindly, sir!” the man says. “You are a gentleman!”  


“Not really,” Arthur jokes. “I was just tryin’ to impress the women.”  


Arthur gets back into the wagon and carries you on your way to Valentine. He drives it delicately down the main road and stops it outside the stable.  


“A’right, I need to go to the store,” Uncle says, climbing off the wagon.  


“Right. Me and the others will get to work,” Karen says, beckoning you and the other two to follow her. You’re not entirely sure what she means by get to work, so you catch up to her and ask.  


“We just scope out the town, see who we can rob,” she says urgently, leading you to the saloon. “Either you can do it sneaky or you can do favors.”  


You didn’t like the idea of doing favors, so instead you decide to see who you can potentially rob. When you were on your own during the past year, you’d occasionally rob people, but your targets back then were always lone men on the trails. Not in the middle of town.  


Karen and Tilly approach two men near the bar who seem to be drunk. Mary-Beth follows a girl who looks like she’s a maid out the doors. You spot, towards the back, the two men who had been harrassing you a couple of days ago. Jeremiah and George. You can tell by their stance and loud, carrying voices they’re drunk as they flirt and stumble around the saloon girls. You decide on an angle to work.  


Approaching them, you put on a friendly face. George looks up and sees you through bloodshot eyes. “‘Ey, if it ain’t you! Ya come back to take us up on our offer?” He practically punches Jeremiah in the arm, guiding his attention to you. The other man turns and sees you.  


“Well, well. Fancy an afternoon?” he laughs loudly. He’s looking a little green in the face. You can tell by the faces of the saloon girls they would rather be somewhere else.  


“Listen, you two,” you say politely. “Why don’t you follow me outside to the back? Maybe we can get properly introduced?”  


You wink, trying to suppress a shudder. The two men smile and stumble as they follow you out the back door of the saloon. You find the yard has a waist-high fence and a couple of chickens. No one else is around. Good.  


The two men trip over their feet a little as they step out onto the dirt. You turn and smile innocently at them.  


“Well, little lady,” Jeremiah burps. “Ya ready to get things started right?”  


You laugh a little, then you pull out your sawed-off shotgun and point it at them.  


“I doubt you two morons will remember this, but I think it’s time you learn that when a girl tells you no, she means no.”  


The two men start to holler, but they’re so drunk you’re not worried about them attracting attention. They start trying to get away from you, but they end up tripping over each other. You swing your arm towards George’s face, slapping him with your gun, knocking him out. Jeremiah then promptly vomits over himself, falling down. You kick him in the head for good measure. You bend down and search their pockets quickly, being particularly careful with Jeremiah’s clothes.  


You pull out several dollars and a hand-written note. Unfortunately, you can’t read it, so you stuff it into your pocket along with the money, then dash off to the main road.  


You look around and see Arthur and Uncle sitting outside the store, waiting for you and the others. You approach the two; Arthur greets you warmly as you sit next to him. He hands you a journal.  


“Here, this is for you,” he says. Your chest warms at the idea of him getting you something.  


“What’s this?”  


“Journal. For ya to practice yer writin’ in. Figured ya could use it.”  


You caress the dark, stamped leather of the cover. A pencil, slipped in a tight leather strip, keeps the journal’s flap closed. You slide it out and flick through the thick pages.  


“Thank you, Arthur,” you say warmly. He nods to you.  


A distraction comes in the form of Mary-Beth dashing up the steps. “Fellers, I just got a tip about a job. Posed as a maid in this big fancy house, usually works. Anyways, these two men were talkin’ about a train going to Saint Denis at night! Could be promisin’!”  


“Yeah, them Saint Denise trains are usually full of rich people and things they don’t need,” Uncle nods.  


“Sounds good,” Arthur says. “Where’s the others?”  


“Karen’s got some drunk man she’s gonna rob, so’s Tilly I think. Oh, there’s Tilly there!” she points across the road. Tilly’s being handled rather roughly by a large, dark man in between the hotel and the bank. “That does not look ideal.”  


“‘Scuse me, ladies,” Arthur says, going after her. You stay with Uncle and Mary-Beth, watching him. He must have smoothed things over since he brings out Tilly after a moment. He hollers at Uncle to watch over her while he goes inside to fetch Karen. A few moments later, he comes out after Karen, who has a big cut on her lip. Turns out the guy she was trying to rob turned out to be a violent, drunken bastard who enjoyed hitting women.  


“He only punched me,” she says, rubbing her lip. “But Arthur hit him a lot harder.”  


“Well, glad you’re okay,” you say.  


“Hey, is it just me or is that man starin’ at us?” Mary-Beth says, pointing to a well-dressed man on his horse near the butcher. He sees the lot of you staring at him, and he points to Arthur.  


“Ain’t you from Blackwater?”  


“No, sir. Not from there.”  


“Oh you were! I seen your face!”  


Arthur sighs heavily and starts walking over to him. “I ain’t never been to Blackwater. Look, mister, come over here.”  


The man panics and spurs his horse into a gallop, running off down the road. Arthur hops onto a nearby Standardbred and dashes off after him.  


“Always runnin’ around, that man,” Uncle says, heading back to the wagon. He and the girls get into it, you follow them. Uncle is just about to whip the horses to get them moving when you stop him.  


“We ought to wait for Arthur, don’t you think?”  


“The man can walk, can’t he?”  


You give Uncle a look. “He’ll only be a minute.”  


“Fine, better be a fast one though.”  


“Don’t know why yer complainin’, old man,” Karen says, still nursing her swollen lip. “Gives you a chance to snooze some more, don’t it? I thought driving horses upset your lumbago.”  


“Oh, very funny,” he says, leaning back and crossing his arms as you and the others laugh.  


After several moments, Arthur returns, giving the horse back to its owner, thanking him. He climbs back onto the wagon, grabbing the reins.  


“That guy dead?” Karen asks.  


“Nah, didn’t need to kill him. He knows now to forget our faces. I doubt he’ll give us any problems. Feller tried to kill himself on a cliff. Damn idiot.”  


Arthur drives you back to camp. He hops out of the wagon and heads over to Dutch. You pull out the money you stole and the note. You look around, seeing if you can find anyone who can read it. You spot John near the donation box by Dutch’s tent. You approach him.  


“Hey John, can you read?”  


He turns his face to you. His bandage has been taken off, revealing the stitches across his cheek, nose and lip. The wounds look red and angry still.  


“Sure,” he says in his raspy voice. You hand him the note. “Says here that some rancher is movin’ some sheep to auction in Valentine later this month. Where’d you find this?”  


“Stole it off some idjits in town.”  


“Hmm. Might be a good score. I’ll look into it; see what I can find out. If it seems promisin’, you should come with since you found it.”  
“Sound good! Lemme know.”

It’s been a few days since you last left camp, and you’re beginning to get stir crazy and bored. You’re wiping down the round table by Dutch’s tent one afternoon when Arthur trots in on Artemis with an unconscious Swanson draped over the back of his horse. Arthur slides him off and onto his shoulder, carrying him over to his own tent by the main campfire. You and Grimshaw approach him.  


“Again, Reverend Swanson?” she asks him as he rolls over, asleep. “What he do this time?”  


“Nothin’ good. He was lucky, this time, real lucky.”  


You step towards Arthur, curious about what had happened, as he walks away from the fire.  


“What did he do?” you ask.  


“Ah, he got himself stuck on a bridge right before a train came along. Would’ve been run over if I hadn’t been there. Damn fool; wish he’d stop with that morphine of his. Ain’t doin’ him or anyone else any good.”  


You stare off at the incoherent Reverend in his tent sadly, Grimshaw sits beside him as she watches over him. Arthur heads over to Pearson and you follow.  


“When you plannin’ on goin’ hunting again?” you ask.  


“Why?”  


“You know why, Arthur. I need to get out of here, I’m going crazy.”  


He smiles at you. “Well, let me talk to Dutch real quick, then maybe you and I can head out.”  


You’re surprised he’s willing to leave so late in the day since the sun is already beginning to set.  


“A’right, let me know when you’re ready to go,” you say, heading off to your own tent to start packing up a few things. He heads over to Dutch, sitting inside his tent reading a book. You hear them talking, but then your attention is caught by Lenny shouting for Dutch and Arthur. You haven’t seen the boy since leaving Colter, when Dutch sent him and Micah out scouting. You look into the trees behind Lenny, but see no sign of the other man.  


“They got Micah in Strawberry!” Lenny shouts, breathing hard. “They nearly lynched me, too, but I got away just in time.”  


“Calm down, son,” Dutch says. “Now tell us what happened?”  


Lenny bends down, placing his hands on his knees. When he’s caught his breath, he straightens up and explains how he and Micah were in Strawberry, and Micah had a few too many drinks and ended up shooting someone, getting himself arrested.  


Dutch pats him on the shoulder. “A’right, son, relax. We’ll deal with this. Arthur, take Lenny into town, get him drunk then head into Strawberry and get Micah out.”  


Arthur tries to argue, but Dutch shuts him down. “A’right, fine. Just can’t do everything right now.” He sees you and beckons you over. “Sorry, Y/N, I gotta take care of the kid. Ya mind if we head out in the mornin’?”  


“Of course not, Arthur. Go with Lenny.”  


He tips his hat to you and leaves. You turn back into camp, wondering what to do now since the daily chores are done. You’re just about to grab a plate of stew when you bump into Strauss.  


“Careful there, Y/N,” he saws, dropping the envelopes in his hand.  


“Sorry, Herr Strauss,” you start picking them up for him. You can see they’re from the post office. One of them is addressed to Arthur; you’ve been practicing enough reading to be able to recognize his name.  


“Here, let me put this in his tent,” you offer. He lets you take the letter and goes off with the others.  


Walking into Arthur’s tent, you place the letter on his table next to the picture of his mother. You see the other photo on the ammo crates by his bed, which shows another woman. You get closer to it, trying to see if there’s any familial similarities to Arthur, but you don’t see any. You wonder who she is, and why Arthur has a picture of her. 

You wake up the next morning, feeling tired and achy. You probably had one too many beers last night with Uncle and John around the campfire. You get out, shading your eyes from the sun before putting your hat back on. Arthur isn’t in his tent or anywhere else in camp; neither is Lenny. Just as you’re pouring yourself a cup of coffee, Arthur and Lenny both ride in, looking horrible. You try not to smile.  


“Had a fun night, did ya?” you ask them. Lenny groans loudly.  


“Don’t know if I would really call it fun,” he says, dismounting his horse on uneasy legs. Arthur hops off of his.  


“Well, at least it got yer mind off goddamn Micah.”  


He approaches you and you offer him your cup of coffee, bending down to pour another one. He thanks you before taking a sip.  


“How many drinks you fellers have last night anyways?” you ask.  


“Too many.”  


You laugh. “Well, ya got a letter from someone. I put it on your table.”  


“A letter? From who?”  


“Don’t know. Anyways, let me know when you’re ready to go. Take as much time as you need. I don’t want you pukin’ over Artemis if you’re still drunk.”  


He guffaws. “Don’t worry ‘bout that, think I’m just about fine. Let me go read this letter, then we’ll go.”  


He heads off to his tent. You go and grab your satchel and bedroll, heading over to Rain and strapping them onto her saddle when Arthur rushes over to Artemis. He barely glances at you as he mounts.  


“Change of plans, Y/N,” he says quickly. “I gotta go take care of somethin’ personal.”  


Without another word, he dashes off down the trail and out of the trees towards Valentine. You wonder what was in the letter that could make him rush off so quickly. You go back to his tent and see the letter still lying there, spread open. You pick it up and read what you can from it. From what words you can make out, you gather that it’s from a woman, asking him to help her. You see her signature on the bottom, but it’s so fancy you can’t read the name.  


Not wanting to look like you’re burying your nose into Arthur’s business, you decide not to ask one of the girls to read it to you. You approach Mary-Beth and Tilly, cleaning some clothes by their tented wagons.  


“Arthur was sure in a hurry,” Mary-Beth says as you take a seat, grabbing a needle and thread. “Thought he was takin’ you out?”  


“Thought so too. But he got a letter from someone, a girl I think. Said he had to go take care of personal business.”  


“I bet it’s from that Mary,” Tilly says, aggressively scrubbing one of Bill’s shirts. “If ya ask me, she ain’t worth it. Don’t know why he goes runnin’ off to her the moment she even mentions his name.”  


“Mary? Who is she?”  


Mary-Beth and Tilly look at each other, almost as though they’re debating on telling you. Mary-Beth leans towards you with a soft expression; she almost looks sad.  


“Look, Y/N, I know you’re sweet on Arthur, but maybe ya ought to let it go.”  


You feel yourself blush. “I ain’t sweet on Arthur.”  


“Please,” Karen says as she walks up to you, holding a repeater. She must be about ready to go on guard duty. “We all see the way you look at him when he comes into camp.”  


“Yeah, that and the way you blush when he offers to take you places,” Tilly chimes in.  


“Ladies, we’re just friends!”  


“Nah, to us Arthur is just a friend. But you don’t see him offerin’ to take us hunting,” Karen says. “And you don’t see us trippin’ all over ourselves whenever he’s around.”  


Mary-Beth giggles. “It’s really cute, actually. But, Y/N, Mary’s a part of his past he ain’t willin’ to let go of. We keep hopin’, she ain’t good for him, but as you saw he goes gallivantin’ off to her on just a whim.”  


“What happened between them?” you ask again.  


Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen fill you in on the story of Arthur and Mary. They don’t know the full story themselves since it was before they had joined the gang, but they had heard enough from Hosea and Grimshaw. They had been lovers when Arthur was fairly young, around the age of twenty. However, Mary came from a decent family and her father intensely disliked Arthur because of his way of life. In the end, Mary chose her family over Arthur and married another man.  


“I can understand why she didn’t choose Arthur,” Karen said. “This life ain’t for everyone. But it’s the way she uses him still. Whenever she needs someone to do a job that’s too rough or dirty for her, she calls him and he goes. Every time.”  


“He still loves her,” Mary-Beth says sadly. “That’s why he keeps goin’. And every time he comes back from doin’ her jobs, he’s always so sad and sayin’ that she won’t have him since he won’t change.”  


“I never liked her,” Tilly adds in. “I saw her once when I was out on a job with Arthur. We were tryin’ to rob someone and she showed up. I swear she insulted him at least three times in ten minutes, then layered them by sayin’ she still loved him. She’s got him wrapped around her finger tight.”  


You feel the pain of their words inside of you. It must show on your face, Mary-Beth leans forward and puts a hand on your knee. “I’m real sorry, Y/N. Arthur’s a good man, he deserves someone like you.”  


“Nah, he don’t,” you say, hanging your head. “I let go of the fantasy of ever having a happy life a long time ago. Arthur fits into that. Besides, no man in their right mind would ever want to be with me.”  


The others go silent for a moment. Then Tilly speaks up again.  


“We’ve all tried to tell him she ain’t worth the trouble; he’s better off without her. He always says he understands, but I don’t think he ever hears us. Maybe you should talk to him. He might listen to you.”  


You shrug your shoulders, doubtful.  


Grimshaw suddenly tramples her way over to your group, screaming. “Now ain’t the time for gossip, you four! Get back to work! Karen, you were supposed to take over for Bill ten minutes ago!”  


You, Mary-Beth and Tilly fall silent, returning to your tasks. Karen starts walking towards the trees, but not before pointing the repeater and pretending to shoot Grimshaw in the back as she walks away. 

It’s early afternoon by the time Arthur returns. By then, your emotions have completely spiraled out of control. While feeling heartbroken by what the others told you, you also feel anger. Anger at Mary, the way she uses him. Angry at Arthur for letting her. Angry at yourself for feeling this way. He approaches you at Pearson’s wagon.  


“Sorry for that, Y/N,” he says warmly. “You still wanna go huntin’?”  


“Can’t,” you say coldly. Arthur looks at you, confused at your snap. You’ve never been short with him.  


“Grimshaw needs me,” you add, trying not to let your emotions show. You know you really shouldn’t be angry with him since it truly isn’t your business, but you can’t help feeling like he’s betrayed you somehow. “Sorry.”  


He takes a step back, his smile sliding off his face. “That’s a’right. Well, I do need to go huntin’, Pearson’s gettin’ low again. You and I should go in a few days though, ya deserve a break.”  


Arthur leaves and goes to Artemis. You turn back to your pile of carrots, feeling stupid. Why do you even care so much? From what it sounds like, Mary only calls him on occasion. It’s not like she’s around camp, distracting him constantly. Still, you know Mary-Beth and Tilly are right. You’ve grown feelings for the outlaw, something you’ve tried bitterly to prevent. If your past had taught you anything, it was that you are not designed to be with someone who could love you because there is no one who could love you. Besides, you doubt that he feels anything towards you. Most likely, he just sees you as a friend, nothing more.  


You cut the carrots, trying to ignore the stinging of your eyes, betraying your tears. You take your feelings out on the vegetables, cutting them up far more than usual. 

The sun is beginning to set when Arthur returns with a deer and two turkeys, turning them over to Pearson. You’ve been nursing a bottle of whisky the last half hour, getting steadily more tipsy. He approaches you where you sit by the campfire with Hosea and Uncle, who’s singing a song you’re quietly humming to.  


“Ain’t seen you drink that much since that time in Bison Point when you fell off your horse and thought you broke your ankle,” Arthur chuckles at you. You stare up at him.  


“Yeah, well, I didn’t break my ankle then and it ain’t broken now,” you say sharply. He sits down next to you. You offer him the bottle and he takes it.  


“What’s goin’ on with you?” he asks quietly so the others won’t hear.  


“What you mean?”  


“I mean you ain’t been actin’ like yerself ever since this mornin’. Is it because I had to take care of that thing? Look, I’ll make it up to ya. We can go huntin’ whenever you want.”  


For some reason, your temper gets the better of you. You’ve forgotten that alcohol always makes it harder to control and hide your emotions.  


“I need to talk to you. Alone,” you say, standing up.  


Arthur stands up, setting the bottle of whisky down. You lead him off into the trees, past a broken wagon and down the hill, towards the river. You take him to the bottom, right before the trees stop and the main trail winds its way along the river. You lean against a large boulder and turn to him finally.  


“I know about Mary,” you finally say, the alcohol fueling the fire in your chest.  


Arthur looks at you, his face is hard.  


“What about Mary?”  


“Arthur, look, it ain’t really none of my business but the other girls told me about her. She.. doesn’t sound like she’s a good person, and I just don’t want…”  


Arthur cuts you off. “You’re right, it ain’t none of yer business, so why you talkin’ ‘bout her?”  


“I’m just trying to help,” you shoot back. “Sounds like she just likes havin’ you around to do stuff for her.”  


“There’s nothin’ for you to help with, Y/N,” he growls. “She’s a part of my past ya know nothin’ about.”  


“I know, Arthur. But please, listen to me. I know you love her, and I know she loved you once. At least, that’s what the others told me. But answer me honestly. Do you really think she still loves you?”  


Arthur sighs heavily, you can tell he’s getting angry. You’ve seen it before, like a fast-approaching storm, but it’s never been directed at you. “Like I said, it ain’t none of yer business what goes on between me and Mary.”  


“Arthur, please just listen to me. If she truly loves you, would she treat you this way?”  


“I was helpin’ her with her brother! It weren’t like she was usin’ me!”  


“Why did she need your help with her brother? She ask you to shoot someone? Beat someone up?”  


Arthur’s face darkens. “He got himself stuck with those damn Chelonian fools. It didn’t require me to hurt no one! Is that what you think she does? Asks me to go kill people for her?” he takes a step towards you, looming over you. You take a step back, feeling nervous.  


“No, that’s not what I meant. But this is what I been tryin’ to say, Arthur. She knows that no matter what kind of life you live, no matter what choices you make, you are a good man and you’ll always help her. I just don’t want you to waste your life on someone who doesn’t deserve you!”  


“And who would you rather me waste my life on? You?”  


You feel like he just punched you in the chest. He must know somehow about your feelings. Did one of the other girls tell him? You stand up straight, glaring at him.  


“I never said I deserved to be with you, Arthur. For God’s sake, don’t! I already know I’m gonna die alone, but you don’t have to share that fate.”  


The two of you stare angrily at each other for a moment. You blink away the angry tears in your eyes. “I promise you though, Arthur, you will die alone just like me if you keep chasin’ after her. If she decided not to be with you then, why would she change her mind now?”  


Arthur’s hand flies up, and you flinch, expecting the hit. Instead, he takes his hat off and rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration. He stares at you, confused, as you stand hunched over with your hands raised above your head. Recognition dawns on his face, and he lowers his hand slowly.  


“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says quietly. “Ya know I’d never…”  


“I know, I know,” you mumble, lowering your hands and slowly straightening up. You feel ashamed of how you reacted, even if it was involuntary. The two of you stand awkwardly. Arthur takes several steps back. You can tell he’s still angry.  


“Arthur, look, I’m sorry. For everything. I’m just tryin’ to look out for you,” you almost whisper.  


He looks away from you and rests his eyes on a bush. “I don’t need you to look out for me, Y/N. I can take care of myself. Besides, it ain’t none of yer business.”  


He turns and stalks away from you and back up the hill. When he’s gone, you feel the tears slide down your hot cheek. You sink down to the ground and let them run. This was not how you planned this conversation to go. In fact, it went as bad as it possibly could have. Not only have you hurt him, your best friend, but now he knows you have feelings for him.  


Feeling betrayed, angry, and confused, you rip out clumps of grass, tearing them apart in your hands. Through your tears, you watch the full moon glide across the sky, reflecting in the steady river. Hours pass, and you can’t find the strength or the courage to stand up and return to camp. You doubt you’ll ever be able to look Arthur in the face again, let alone speak to him. Why couldn’t you just accept the fact that he won’t ever feel for you the way you feel for him? Why couldn’t you take that he was always going to choose her over you? Why couldn’t you just accept that you’re always going to be alone? Hell, it had been easy enough before he found you.  


The sky begins to lighten, and you’re still sat by the boulder where Arthur left you. You wipe the long-dried trails of tears from your face and rub your tired eyes. You tell yourself to grow up, to stop acting like a child, and pick yourself up off the ground. You march up the hill. The walk back to camp seems a lot longer than it did last night. Maybe you’re just dreading facing reality.  


You walk into the silent camp. Hardly anyone is stirring yet, most of them are still asleep. The exception is Swanson, sitting on the ground near the campfire, but it’s clear he’s been dipping into his supply of morphine again. You drag your eyes to Arthur’s tent, afraid of what you might see. To your relief, his cot is empty, and upon further inspection of the camp, you find that Artemis is gone. He’s obviously left. Probably back to Mary. You can’t say you blame him. You force yourself to walk over to your tent, practically falling down onto your bedroll and into sleep.

A few hours go by, and you’re awakened by Grimshaw’s yelling.  


“Of course, yer lazin’ about!” she squawks at you, thumping on the canvas above your head. You tiredly crawl out of the tent and she grabs you by the ear.  


“Get over there and do your work!” she tosses you over to the washbin by Tilly’s tent and you obediently get on your knees and start scrubbing some clothes. She marches away to the other side of camp.  


After you massage your ear, you look around the camp with sore eyes. It’s early afternoon. Arthur’s horse, Artemis, is still missing, for which you are grateful. Mary-Beth approaches you.  


“You a’right? Ya look awful?”  


You smile sadly. “I’m fine, Mary-Beth.”  


She pauses. “I guess things didn’t go well with Arthur last night.”  


You look up at her. “You couldn’t hear us, could you? I didn’t think we were being very loud.”  


“No, but I saw the two of you leave. Then he came back by himself. I ain’t seen him look that way in a long time. Then he got on his horse and left. Ain’t seen him since.”  


You drop your eyes back to the soapy water before you. “What did he look like?”  


“Hard to say, really,” she says after sighing and sitting down on a crate. “Like he was heartbroken, honestly, but angry too. He didn’t say nothing to anyone either before he left.”  


“Well, you’re right in thinking things didn’t go well. God, I’m such a fool. I really thought I might have a chance with him if he wasn’t involved with her. Guess that Mary’s right about one thing. He’ll never change. Besides, he’s right to stay away from me.”  


Mary-Beth is silent for several moments. “Why… why’d you kill your family?”  


You stop, taken aback by the question. The last thing you want to talk about is your past. “I just… had to. I needed to get away from them and the only way I could was to kill ‘em.”  


You go back to scrubbing the clothes, raking them across the washboard.  


“Your husband, was he a good man? If you don’t mind my askin’,” she asks softly.  


“No. I’d never met him before my dad told me I was engaged to him. He hated me, though, I know he did. And I hated him.”  


“That’s awful. I can’t imagine bein’ engaged to someone I’d never met.”  


“Yeah, it was. I tried to learn to love him, but he made that impossible. It taught me one thing though. True love doesn’t exist. It’s just something from fairy tales.”  


“I never really saw it that way,” she says, looking off across camp. “I’ve read so many books that I can’t not believe it exists. How could so many different people only believe in such a beautiful thing without having felt it?”  


“Guess I never really thought of it that way. Well, if it is real, it surely wants nothin’ to do with me.”  


The two of you sit in silence before Mary-Beth offers to read to you from one of her books. You accept her offer, glad for the distraction from your own dark thoughts. 

Grimshaw sets you on night duty, under the impression that you had slept the previous night and simply overslept this morning. You stand there, near the trail, your thoughts circling around one another when you hear a horse coming in. You grab the repeater tighter in your hands. Arthur comes up the trail on Artemis, several pelts on her back. You avert your eyes from him, and he passes you in silence. You wish you could say something to him, apologize maybe, but you doubt he’d want to listen to anything you have to say.  


Several moments after he passes, you head up to camp for a drink. You go to Pearson’s wagon and grab a bottle, drinking from it greedily. Arthur isn’t anywhere to be seen, but you can hear him talking to Dutch. From what it sounds like, he’s going to be near camp for the next few days. You don’t know if you’re ready to face him yet. You come to a decision.  


After a few hours, when you’re sure most of the camp and most importantly Arthur are asleep, you return to the clearing. Javier and Uncle are the only ones awake, sitting by the main camp fire. You find Arthur fast asleep in his cot, his journal lying on his chest. You quietly pass him and go to the other side of the wagon that forms his tent and look at the map that is stuck to the side. It shows New Austin, West Elizabeth, Ambarino, New Hanover and a state you’ve never been to called Lemoyne. You look over it and focus on New Hanover, trying to find hunting grounds you’ve never been to. You focus on an area called Roanoke Ridge up near a town called Annesburg. Deciding on that, you turn away from the wagon again, heading back down to the trees to return to guard duty. A familiar voice calls you.  


“What you doin’, Y/N?” It’s Arthur. You turn and look back at him. He’s sitting up in his cot. Your soft footsteps must have woken him, you’ve forgotten how light of a sleeper he is.  


“Nothing, Mr. Morgan. I’m sorry,” you say, hoping he’ll find more in that apology than simply waking him. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just… looking for something.”  


He says nothing but continues to stare at you, his face hard. You turn away and leave, hoping he won’t come after you. You enter the trees and sigh hard, feeling like you just escaped. You’re not exactly sure what you just escaped from, though. You suddenly wonder if, instead of going hunting, you should just leave entirely. The thought pains you; you’ve gotten so close to many of the others. This gang is the closest thing you’ve ever known to a proper family. However, it might not be possible to stay with Arthur around. He’s such a vital part to the gang. You shake your head, trying to rid these thoughts, and decide that for now you’ll just go hunting near this Roanoke Ridge. You’ll worry about potentially abandoning the camp later when you return.

When Lenny comes to relieve you in the morning, to say you’re exhausted is an understatement. You’ve had hardly any sleep in the last 2 days. You think about delaying your hunting trip for a few hours and sleeping, but you know Grimshaw won’t let that happen. She’s already up and looking like she’s about to go rage at Karen and Tilly. You tiredly roll up your bedroll, but decide to leave your tent here. You’ve spent plenty of nights open to the stars; even been rained on a few times. Besides, you’ll only be gone a couple of days. Long enough to clear your head hopefully.  


You strap your things to Rain’s saddle, and then turn back to the camp. You see Hosea sitting up in his bedroll, preparing to start his day. You approach him.  
“Hosea, how are you?”  


“Very good, Y/N,” he says, standing up. “How are things between you and Arthur?”  


Jesus, does everyone know that you two fought? You sigh heavily.  


“Not the best. Look, I’m gonna head out for a few days, do some huntin’. You mind if I take one of Jack’s books?”  


He stares at you sadly, then nods. “I understand, Y/N. I’ll tell Dutch you’re out followin’ a lead.”  


“Thank you,” you say as he hands you another Otis Miller book. You turn away and mount Rain, staring back at the camp one last time before trotting down the trail and into the open air.  


You head into Valentine to pick up a few things. You go into the store and buy some cans of food, coffee, and a small map. You study it briefly, figuring out which trails to follow to get to Roanoke Ridge. You approach the clerk.  


“Excuse me, but can you read what that says?” you point to the north eastern corner of New Hanover. He glances at it.  


“Sure, says Roanoke Ridge. You got family up near Annesburg or somethin’?”  


“Or something,” you say, putting the map into your satchel.  


“Apologies, miss. Didn’t mean to pry.”  


You thank him and leave the store. You head over to the hotel and give the desk clerk a dollar for a room, figuring you need to get some rest before heading on your way.  


By late afternoon, you’re as rested as you’re going to get. You quickly brush Rain and feed her a few cubes of hay and some apples. You pat her affectionately, she muzzles her nose into your hand. You mount her and canter out of town; someone yells behind you to slow down. You ignore them, following the muddy road away from Valentine.  


You travel up through the Cumberland Forest and into the Grizzlies East in Ambarino. Late into the night, you stop by a lake that the map says is O’Creagh’s Run, although you struggle to read the words. A single cabin sits on the north eastern side of the lake. You make camp on the other side of it. You quickly make a fire and roast a rabbit you had caught not too long ago, staring at the cabin on the opposite shore from you. Smoke spirals from the chimney stack of the cabin; a candle’s light illuminates the window in the front. A single, large white horse stands in a stall beside the cabin. You wonder who lives there and what they do. Not that you’re going to go introduce yourself by any means.  


You eat quickly and then settle down in your bedroll, staring at the stars above, letting them wink you to sleep.

Rain drops splash on your face in the morning. It isn’t raining hard, but it’s enough to wake you. You roll up your things and then kick dirt over the fire, which is just a pile of hot, sizzling coals at this point. You make sure the few pelts you gathered on your way here yesterday are still situated before mounting Rain and kicking her into a gallop around the lake.  


You’ve never been to country like this before. The mountains are grey and green, arching into tall mounds above your head. Among the thick trees and tall grasses, wild flowers of every color bloom. Eventually the trees thin into open grasslands, but the mountains rise higher. At least the sky is clear now and the rain has stopped, giving way to warm sunshine.  


By midday, you’re back into a thick forest, but it isn’t like the ones you left behind in West Elizabeth or by Valentine. It isn’t made of the elegant pine trees you’re familiar with, but tall oaks. The mountains you ride upon are no longer smooth, but broken up and craggly. There are so many cliffs and ledges you have to slow Rain down into an easy canter for fear of falling.  


You reach Roanoke Valley and see the roaring river in the bottom of a steep ravine. You stop Rain and pull out your map, examining it. You struggle to properly read a location called the Elysian Pool close to a place named Butcher’s Creek. You find the easiest trails to follow to get there and send Rain on her way again.  


After nearly an hour of travelling, the trail points down towards the Kamassa River, which you know means you’re close to the Elysian Pool. The trail turns south along the river. Something feels wrong, like you’re being watched. You look all around you, but the trees are so thick and dense it’s impossible to make anything out. The birds above you continue to sing, so there can’t be a predator like a cougar around. You pull Rain to a walk, checking the forest.  


A doe bolts from a bush close to you, spooking both you and your horse as she darts up the steep hill. You sigh heavily, figuring that’s what had made you nervous. You kick Rain, sending her after the doe to try and hunt it. She bounds up the hill, dodging through the trees.  


Just as you peak over the hill, you hear yelling and hollering. Then gunshots, and Rain squeals loudly. You’ve never heard her make that sound before, but you know instantly it’s bad. She starts turning in circles, your upper body swings over her neck and that’s when you see the blood streaming from her chest.  


“NO!” you scream as another gunshot rings out, slamming into her neck. Her legs begin to buckle beneath her, tossing you onto the hard ground. You launch to your feet, pulling out your sawed-off shotgun and pointing it. Around you are four men, dirty and wild. Most of them are barely dressed, wearing nothing but pants or overalls. They point their own rifles at you, laughing maniacally through mouths missing multiple teeth.  


“Well, lookee here, boys!” one of them hollers. “We got us a live ‘un! I think we’ll like ‘er just fine!”  


“Let’s take ‘er back, let her stew a few days,” another one says.  


The man closest to Rain approaches your dying horse. She’s still snorting, although she’s getting quieter. Blood seeps into the ground beneath her, her breathing looks labored.  


“Get away from her!” you scream, pointing your gun to him. You hear one of the others run up behind you, but you’re not quick enough. He slams the butt of his gun into the back of your head, knocking you to the ground. You have just enough time to see the man near Rain place the barrel of his gun against her head and pull the trigger before the world around you turns black.


	7. Blessed are those who mourn

Warning: violence, gore, blood, pet loss, fluff, angst  
Word count: ~9300  
**Author’s Note: Some of this chapter is done in Arthur’s POV. Notice the switch after seeing lines made of ***.

You feel immense pain all over your body, particularly your head. Someone’s dragging you by your ankle. The sun’s light illuminates your eyelids, but you feel as though opening them would take the strength of a god. You hear men hollering excitedly, laughing. A large rock scrapes against your back as your dragged along, digging into your spine. Wincing, you open your eyes and immediately wish you hadn’t.  


One of the men who had captured you is holding tight to your ankle, a rifle dangling from his other hand. He’s dragging you towards the large mouth of a cave. It’s opening is flanked on one side by a large, steel cage with bits of animals and even humans scattered inside of it. On the other side is a horrific shrine made of dismembered people. You see arms, feet, even the mutilated upper torso of a woman. You struggle to move your body, even a finger. Your head pounds painfully. You try to kick your ankle away from your captor. He glances back, made aware of the fact that you’ve woken up, tightening his grip on you.  


“Woo!” he hollers along with the other men flanking you as he brings you in. Other men stand by the side lines, holding rifles and machetes. They yell and laugh as they point at you. You fight harder and almost work your ankle out of the man’s grasp when one of the others walking beside you slams his gun into your temple, forcing you to black out again. 

*************************************************************************************************************

Arthur knows you were right about Mary. You were right about everything. She only ever called on him when she needed something, and then she’d go for long periods of time without ever speaking to him again. It seemed like every time she did talk to him, she did everything in her power to demean him, show him his way of life was horrible. Not that he disagrees with her. This life, the life of an outlaw, is far from easy or pretty. Robbing, beating and killing people. They are things he never wanted to do but had no choice.  


He sits in his tent, having just seen you go back to guard duty. He had woken when he heard you approaching and watched you go to the other side of his tent. He wants to follow you so badly into the woods and tell you how sorry he is, how much he prefers you over Mary. When he was with her, all she did was tell him how much she wished he would change. You, on the other hand, accept him how he is. He could tell you everything without fear of being judged. All you had done was ask him to leave her, to find someone who was worthy of him, and he threw it in your face.  


Arthur knows you care for him in ways that are deeper than just friendship. John had pointed it out shortly after arriving at Horseshoe Overlook. The way you blushed whenever he complimented you, the way you always seemed to be there when he came back to camp to greet him with a smile. Arthur tried denying it at first, calling John a fool. He wouldn’t know the first thing about women. After that, though, he started to pay attention to the things John pointed out, along with other things he noticed on his own. The way you always came to sit next to him by the campfire, how you always brought him coffee in the morning. The way he caught you staring at him when he was focusing on the hunt. It wasn’t long after that he realized he had feelings for you as well.  


“Damn fool,” he says aloud to himself. He knows he hurt you. He couldn’t get the image of you flinching the way you did when he had put his hand in his hair, like you thought he was going to hit you. Not that he ever would, but still the idea of you expecting him to caused him pain and guilt.  


He picks his journal back up, glancing over the words he had written. If only you knew how many pages of it he mentioned you in, how many sketches of you were inside of it. He doubts now that you would ever speak to him again. Why couldn’t he have told you sooner that he felt things for you too? He knows why, of course. He couldn’t stand being rejected again the way he was by Mary, and the thoughts of Eliza and Isaac were too much to bear. He couldn’t risk something like that happening to you, too.  


He reads the last passage of his journal one last time. He decides that in the morning he will find you and tell you everything. You deserve to know.

When morning comes, he wanders into the trees looking for you, but finding only Lenny. He approaches the young man. “Where’s Y/N?”  


“Saw her leave not too long ago,” he replies.  


“Leave? Where?”  


“Don’t know. She didn’t say a word to me.”  


Arthur turns and goes back to camp, wondering where you might have gone to. He figures you had just gone to town to get a bath or do some shopping and you’ll be back shortly.  


When midday comes and you still haven’t returned, he finishes chopping a pile of firewood and goes to dig up clues to your whereabouts. He approaches Dutch, who knows nothing. Hosea is sitting in the tent with him, and he speaks up.  


“Y/N is following a lead on a stage coach robbery. Said she’s be back in a few days.”  


“Stage coach robbery?” Arthur asks, immediately suspicious. “She ain’t never even robbed a stage! What makes her think she can do it by herself?”  


Hosea just shrugs his shoulders, and Dutch turns back to him. Arthur walks away from the tent, rubbing his chin. He knows Hosea’s covering for you. He looks and finds your tent is still standing, although empty. So you are planning on returning. Maybe Hosea’s right, and you’ll be back in a few days. Dutch calls his attention.  


“Arthur! Have you gone to get Micah out of Strawberry yet?”  


“Not yet.”  


“Well, get on it, son! We can’t let them hang him.”  


“I disagree, but fine,” Arthur says, marching over to Artemis. 

*************************************************************************************************************

You’re startled awake by someone’s loud laughter. You’re locked in a cage, and you’re alone. The cage is sitting inside a cavern against a large pillar, the only light coming from fires and torches. All around the cage is a scene of horror. Bits of human dragged all over, bones, torn and shredded clothes. Several chests and other pieces of furniture form a large pile on the other side of the cavern near the wall, lying open and broken. The smell is unbelievable, a mixture of blood and excrement.  


You’re stiff and sore from being dragged. You rub the back of your head where you were first hit, finding your skull tender. You wipe above your brow, where they hit you the second time and feel a deep cut in your skin, coated in dried blood.  


The laugh that woke you is followed by a man’s piercing shriek, which is quickly cut off. You can’t see anyone, nor any signs of movement. Standing up, you approach the cage door and jerk it, finding it locked. Not a surprise. You reach down to pull out your gun when you find that your gun belt has been removed, along with your shoes and most of your clothes, leaving you in your undergarments. You start frantically looking around, looking for a key or anything to break the lock on the door. Of course, there’s nothing.  


Someone’s walking, you can hear their footsteps, and the firelight around the corner is dimmed suddenly by the person. He comes into view; one of the wild men who captured you. He’s wiping off his machete, cleaning off the fresh blood smearing the blade. You sit down quickly, trying to be as invisible as possible. Another man approaches him.  


“We got a wagon comin’ down the road!” he chuckles, spit flying from his mouth. “Boy, they were a bunch of screamers!”  


The other one with the machete laughs again. “Those are the best ones!”  


The one who had first spoken suddenly notices you, even though you’ve been sitting still.  


“Looks like she’s awake! Should we do it?”  


The other one pulls him back. “Not yet. I don’t think she’s ready yet; she don’t seem hungry enough. Few more days I think.”  


They chuckle and leave, going towards a bright light ahead of your cage which could only be the sun shining through the mouth of the cave and smattering against the stone wall. So you’re close to the front. If only you could get this damn door open!  


You look around more closely to the inside of your cage now that your eyes are adjusted to the dim light. There’s a few bones lying in the corner. You pick up the splintered bits of a femur and work it at an angle against the bars, shaping it into a narrow point. You carefully reach it through the holes in the bars by the door, angling it so the point faces the lock. Inserting it, you start wiggling it, trying to work it free. Without warning, the splinter snaps, the point falls out and away from you. Resisting the urge to throw the useless bone, you set it down carefully back in the corner you found it in. You sit yourself back down, trying to think, as impossible as it seems in this terrifying place. 

*************************************************************************************************************

Arthur returns to camp, bitter and irritated. Micah follows him after he and Arthur killed nearly half the town of Strawberry for the man’s guns. Micah then insisted on robbing a bank stage to make it up to Dutch for being arrested and nearly hung, claiming it to be a peace offering. Arthur found it suspicious when Micah refused to search the stage before demanding to drive it right into a trap set by the O’Driscolls, but thought nothing of it after seeing the take.  


It’s been three days since he left, wishing it was you accompanying him back to camp instead of the loud-mouthed blond man with him. He hitches Artemis to a post and gratefully walks away from the man and towards your tent, determined to spill everything here and now. Only he finds your tent as empty as it was when he left. He approaches Hosea.  


“Has Y/N come back?”  


“No, Arthur,” he says, looking up from his newspaper. “Haven’t seen her since she left for that stage coach.”  


“Hosea, I know she ain’t robbin’ a stage. That girl barely knows how to rob a lone, one-legged man on an abandoned trail. Where is she really?”  


Hosea chuckles. “See? I told ya you were smart. She went off huntin’. To be honest, though, I thought she’d be back by now.”  


“She say where she was goin’ huntin’?”  


“No. To be honest, I don’t think she told anyone.”  


“Great!” Arthur stalks off. The last person to see you was Lenny. Arthur goes and finds him by the table practicing a game of five finger fillet.  


“Lenny, you saw Y/N leave. Ya see which way she went?”  


“Sure. Looked like she was heading over to Valentine. I ain’t seen her since though.”  


“No one has,” Arthur breathes out heavily. He can’t help feeling worried about you. Although he knows you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, having done it for a year before he found you, he can’t rid himself of the feeling that something bad has happened. He looks around the camp and spots Charles walking back into camp from being on guard duty.  


“Charles. Will you ride with me?” he says, walking up to the man.  


“What’s going on?”  


“I need to find Y/N. No one’s seen her in days, but young Lenny thought she was headin’ for Valentine. Figure we can start there, ask around. See if anyone’s seen her.”  


“Of course I’ll come.”  


He grabs Taima while Arthur mounts Artemis. The two head on down the trail towards the town of Valentine.  


“So you said no one’s seen her in days?” Charles asks while they ride.  


“Seems so. Hosea was coverin’ for her, sayin’ she was gonna rob a stage. Didn’t believe it the second he told me. Turns out she’s off huntin’.”  


“She’s a good hunter, Arthur. I don’t think the camp would be half as well fed if it weren’t for you and her. How do you know she isn’t on her way back to camp now?”  


“I don’t. I just... got a bad feelin’, is all.”  


The two fall silent as they reach Valentine. Arthur hitches Artemis outside the store while Charles says he’s going to ask around in the saloon. Arthur goes inside and walks up to the store clerk.  


“Ya seen a girl? About so high,” he motions to your height with his hand. “Got (add hair description), (eye color). You’d remember her. Would’ve been about three days ago.”  


The clerk thinks for a moment. “Sure, think I seen her. She was in here.”  


“Did she tell you anythin’? What she buy?”  


“Look, mister. Is she in trouble or somethin’?”  


“Maybe, that’s what I’m tryin’ to find out. I just wanna make shoar she’s a’right, that’s all.”  


“Oh,” the clerk replies, brightening up. “Well, in that case, she came and bought some food, coffee and a map.”  


Charles walks in, saying no one in the saloon has seen you.  


“A map? She mention any interest in a certain place,” Arthur says to the clerk.  


“Sure. Asked me about Roanoke Ridge.”  


“Roanoke?” Charles says. “That’s Murphree country.”  


Arthur hastily speaks. “What she say about the Ridge?”  


“Nothin’. She just asked me to read it to her. Guess she couldn’t.”  


“Come along, Arthur. I think I know the route she would’ve taken.”  


Arthur thanks the clerk and practically runs out of the store, jumping into Artemis’ saddle.  


“You said it was Murphree country?” he asks Charles, who’s mounting Taima.  


“Last I heard it was. They’re a nasty gang, like to stay around Annesburg. They usually pick off a lot of stage coaches or lone riders. The people they catch are rarely seen again.”  


“We need to find her, and fast.”  


Arthur charges Artemis down the road, scaring multiple townsfolk, Charles’s struggling to keep up. 

*************************************************************************************************************

It must be night, the light from the sun has vanished from the wall far ahead of you. You’ve no idea how many days you’ve been here. You’re still trapped in the cage, desperate and hungry. Your captors have offered you no food, or anything else for that matter. Every once in a while, one will approach and shake the bars, yelling all kinds of profanities. Usually they just threaten to kill you, eat you, rape you, but so far they haven’t done anything. Keep on telling each other to make you wait a few more days. What they’re making you wait for you don’t want to find out. You have to get out of here.  


One of the wild men is walking down the cavern towards you, hunched over as he drags something behind him. You’re sure by the dim light it’s a body. You narrow your eyes and see something glinting off the man’s gun belt. Something small, narrow and metal, dangling wildly. Something on a large thin ring. A key?  


“Hey,” you gently call in a hoarse voice. “Hey, mister.”  


He stops and looks at you, smiling nastily through blackened gums. “What you want, girlie?”  


“You’re a nasty piece of shit, ain’t ya?” you taunt, not really sure if you’re being very wise. You approach the front of the cage, staying just far enough away that he can’t grab you. He drops his load and wanders over to you, pulling out a rusty machete.  


“Lotta mouth comin’ from someone locked in a cage,” he chuckles. He puts a hand on one of the bars and peers into the cage. “Maybe I oughta cut out yer tongue!” He rubs his thumb against the blade of his machete.  


You launch yourself at him, wrapping your hands tight around his neck through the bars. He tries to break your grasp and comes close to more than once. With all your strength, you grapple with him, watching his face turn red and then blue, his yells cut off. Spit slides down his chin as his eyes roll up and his body sags. You quickly reach down and grab the ring from his waist, yanking it off his pants as he falls to the ground. You doubt he’s dead, but at least he’s quiet.  


You inspect the ring and find a large, iron key. It’s metal matches the lock on your cage. Hastily, you jab the key into the lock and twist. It’s an old lock and it’s resistant. You hope a bit of the bone isn’t still inside, jamming it. After a few seconds though, the lock clicks and releases. You wrestle with it, yanking it off the door. You push the door open and grab the unconscious man. You drag him inside the cage, replace the lock on the closed door and throw the key into a fire nearby. You grab the machete the man dropped and start heading up the cavern, towards the mouth.  


You see the wide opening and the dark forest beyond. You’re shaking horribly, a mixture of cold and fear. You can’t hear anyone, but you don’t trust the silence. You tiptoe outside, averting your eyes from the awful scenes of gore all around. You see a trail straight ahead that leads deeper into the forest. Down to the right is another trail, following the river. You decide to go for the trail straight ahead, not knowing what lies around the curve of the other.  


You rush across the small clearing as quiet as you can and reach the trail. Just as you turn the bend, you hear something whistle and then a piercing pain in your thigh, causing you to fall. You turn onto your side to see what happened. An arrow sticks out the back of your leg, blood streaming down it. You look behind you. One of the wild men, the one that shot Rain, comes barreling at you, readying another arrow.  


“Thought ya could get away, huh little girl?!” he yells. Your adrenaline starts pumping, dulling the pain in your leg. You stand up, wielding the machete. Just as he raises his bow, you throw it at him. You were aiming for his head, but it smacks him in the hand, causing him to drop the bow. You realize right afterwards that you’ve lost your only weapon, but so has he.  


He charges you and slams into you, knocking you to the ground again as your leg gives away. He kicks you in the ribs hard; you scream out in pain.  


“We’re gonna kill you!” he yells, kicking again and again. “But not before we show ya yer own guts!”  


Without hesitating, you reach behind you and yank out the arrow from your leg with as much strength as you can. The pain is unimaginable. He bends down to grab you by the hair and you shove the arrow through his neck. He gurgles and spits as blood pours from the wound and his open mouth. After a second, you toss him off of you.  


You have to move. With all the sound you and the man were making, the others will have heard. You muster as much strength as you can and pull yourself to your feet, hobbling down the trail after you pick up his bow and arrows. You stumble multiple times, each time it gets harder to get back up.  


You finally reach the main road, which is empty. You immediately recognize the area. This was the place you had been just before you started to feel like someone was watching you, right before that deer scared you and Rain. You can see the part of the forest where you dashed up into the woods. The place that leads to her. You make a decision, knowing it’s going to be one of the most painful things to ever do, both physically and emotionally.  


You cross the road and reach the trees. You grasp a young oak and stand for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to ignore the horrible pain in your thigh and ribs. You look down and see a fallen branch, the perfect size for you to use as a crutch. You grab it and adjust it slightly, making it as comfortable as possible, and begin the arduous journey.  


You don’t know how long you spend crawling up the hill, and you have to stop several times to rest. Your leg’s bleeding badly, but you have nothing to wrap it in. You keep going.  


By the time you reach the top, the sky is getting lighter, heralding the coming of the sun. You see a dark mound on the ground, and you know it’s her. What’s left of her anyways. You can’t stop the tears any longer.  


You heavily limp towards her and collapse upon her corpse, not caring that she’s been dead for days. You pet her cold nose, avoiding looking at the gunshot hole in her skull. You can’t help but cry, each sob racking through you painfully.  


You reach into the saddle bag, pulling out a spare shirt. You shred it as best as you can, tying it around your leg as tight as you can stand, crying in pain as you finish the knot. Then you reach in the bag again and pull out a half empty bottle of alcohol and take a large drink. You lean against Rain’s body, letting the pain take over you finally.  


The agony of your leg, ribs and the cut in head is nothing compared to what you feel in your heart. Your only companion, the one good thing from your childhood, is gone. You still remember holding her head as a newly born foal in your lap. You remember watching her take her first steps only hours after being born. Teaching her to accept halters, bridles and saddles. The both of you learning how to become one as horse and rider. Your grandmother had taught you how to ride a horse when she was a yearling. Now she’s dead, just as dead as your grandmother, the only person you know loved you.  


The pain in your body and your heart lulls you to sleep, and you slump over her body, your head facing the rising sun, wishing death had taken you instead.

*************************************************************************************************************

Arthur and Charles barrel through the Cumberland Forest and towards O’Creagh’s Run. They stop on the western side of the lake. Charles points out an obvious spot where someone had been camping, the cold remains of their fire marking the spot. Charles investigates it.  


“Fire’s been out a few days. You’ve camped with her, this look like her work?” he says to Arthur.  


“Hard to say,” the outlaw says, sliding off of Artemis. “It really could be anyone.”  


He bends down to investigate the flattened grass where you had slept. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it was her, though. Seems like the kind of place she’d pick to rest. She’s always liked campin’ near water.”  


He motions to the calm lake, a large pike leaping out of its waters. He notices the cabin across the lake, but it looks empty. “Let’s go, we ain’t far from Roanoke Ridge.”  


Charles agrees, and the two men mount their horses, charging up the trail once more. Arthur wishes he could pick up a definitive trail of you. They run along the ridge, below the train tracks and up into Roanoke Valley. When they reach the ledge above the river, they’re forced to stop since the trail splits, running north and south. Charles pulls out a map.  


“Damn, she could be anywhere by now,” Arthur says.  


Charles is silent for a moment. “Well, you did plenty of hunting with her. If anyone knows how she thinks and moves, it would be you.”  


Arthur thinks on this and knows he’s right. The two of you have had plenty of hunting trips together. He wonders if perhaps you had wandered north, up towards Brandywine Drop. He gestures for the map from Charles, who hands it to him. He studies it for several moments.  


“There,” he says, pointing to the Elysian Pool. “I bet ya she went this way.”  


“How can you be sure?”  


“I told ya, she likes bodies of water. She’d be usin’ the pool as a landmark, especially since I doubt she’s ever been this way before.”  


“Sounds like a good enough lead. Let’s head that way.”  


The two men head south on the trail towards a place called Beaver Hollow. When they get close, Charles stops the other.  


“We should avoid this place, Arthur.”  


“Why?” Arthur demands, getting impatient.  


“Like I said, this is Murphree country. I’ve read stories of people and coaches going into Beaver Hollow. Word is they never come out. Even the law are afraid to go near it. I reckon we go around, across the river. We can avoid it easier.”  


“That will take us twice as long!”  


“You rather we wander right into their holdout? If Y/N is in trouble, we won’t be doing her any favors by getting ourselves killed.”  
Arthur sighs. “Fine. Lead the way, Charles.”  


The two continue on, losing sight of the river as they round the mountain. It’s just past midday when the trail begins heading towards the river, skirting south of Beaver Hollow. Charles pulls Taima to a stop.  


“Look there!” he points. Arthur follows his finger and sees a trail of blood leading across the trail and into the trees. In the forest, there’s obvious signs of someone going through the forest in a rather clumsy manner, almost as if they were badly injured. Arthur hops off his horse and investigates more closely. He sees more blood on the ground, the trees and bushes.  


“It leads up the hill,” he says. “I think we should follow it.”  


Charles dismounts Taima and follows Arthur, following the trail of blood.

*************************************************************************************************************

You sit awake, leaning against Rain’s body. You’ve only been asleep for a few hours, the pain all over your body preventing you from sleeping longer. You have to get out of here, otherwise you know you’ll die. It’s only a matter of time before those men find you again.  


Perhaps you’ve always longed for death, but you’ll be damned if you welcome it with open arms. You have to get back to camp. It’s your only chance.  


Using the branch, you hoist yourself up onto your feet, clenching your jaw as your leg throbs painfully. You sling the bow and arrows behind your back again. You glance one last time at the body of your beloved horse before making your way across the top of the hill in the direction of Annesburg. You’re only chance is to make it to town, find a way onto the train somehow and go to Valentine. From there, you can find a way to camp. You doubt you’ll be able to get close to Annesburg with this leg, but you’re determined to try.  


You hobble along for nearly a quarter of an hour and you reach the cover of the trees gratefully, as the sun is beating down on you, adding to your misery. The ground begins to slope downwards, and your foot slips on a loose rock, causing you to fall. You grunt loudly from the pain, gripping your leg. Then you hear it. The undeniable sound of someone walking quickly from behind you. Those wild men have tracked you down and have come to finish you off. You refuse to let them take you down without a fight though. You push yourself to your feet again, dropping the branch and pulling the bow off your back and turning to face them. You notch an arrow and point it ahead of you. You can’t see anyone yet, but you don’t shoot. There’s a patch of tall grass blocking your vision from the direction you came from. You don’t know how many of them there will be.  


The grass farthest from you begins to shake as though someone is parting it. That someone is coming closer and closer as they stomp their way over to you. You pull the string of the bow as tight as you can, your ribs protesting painfully.  


Just as you’re about to let the arrow fly, the tall, broad frame of Arthur comes through the grass. You quickly point the arrow to the right, letting it fly into a tree.  


“Jesus!” he yells, flinching and staring at the arrow and then turning back to you. He looks at you and the fight leaves your body. You drop the bow from your bloody hand, your arm wraps around your sore ribs.  


“Arthur,” you moan, you can barely hear your own voice. He raises his hands and slowly starts walking towards you.  


“Easy, girl,” he says quietly, his voice soothing. You can’t prevent tears sliding down your cheek. “It’s a’right, yer safe now, darlin’.”  


He reaches for you, quickly wrapping his strong arms around you and pulls you close to him. At first, you stiffen against him, your ribs complaining, then you feel his warmth envelope you, his wild scent of pine, leather and stale cigarettes filling your nose. The sound of his heart beating pumps through your ears. The strength leaves your body and you relax as he grips you tightly, holding you up. His hand rests on your tender skull, holding it to his chest gently. Your breath quickens and you begin to shiver uncontrollably. You feel his hot breath on your head as your tears begins soaking into his black shirt.  


“Yer a’right, girl. We’re gonna get you home.”  


His deep voice reverberates from his chest and into your weak, injured body. You wrap your arms around his middle and surprise yourself with how strongly you grip him. The hand on your back starts rubbing circles into your skin.  


The two of you stand this way for several minutes until you hear Charles’ voice carrying down from the top of the hill.  


“Arthur! Have you found her?”  


He lifts up his head and calls back. “I got her. We’ll be up in a minute.” He wraps his arms tighter around you, squeezing you with his hands gently. “Listen, darlin’, we gotta get back up the mountain. Can ya walk?”  


You test your leg, still wrapped in his tight embrace. You can tell that it’s not going to take your weight anymore. You shake your head against his chest.  


“That’s a’right, I’ll take care of ya.”  


He adjusts your weight so you’re still leaning against him and he picks you up as though you weigh nothing. The movement and the bend of your body in his arms causes your ribs to ache painfully, making you gasp.  


“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he says, walking slowly up the hill to cause as little pain as possible. “For everythin’.”  


Within a few moments, he’s brought you back up to the top of the hill. You’re surprised by how quickly Arthur made it back up seeing as it took you 15 minutes to get to where he found you. You must not have been moving very fast. He starts to set you down close to Rain’s body. You avoid looking at her, you simply can’t, as you groan in pain. He apologises again, setting your back against him as he holds you up.  


Charles is standing ahead of you, holding your satchel, gunbelt and Rain’s saddle bag in one hand and the reins to Taima and Artemis in the other.  


“You look like hell,” he says quietly to you. You don’t know what to say, so you just shrug, wincing as even that simple movement hurts. You feel slightly embarrassed to be standing among the two men wearing nothing but your filthy undergarments.  


“This way, c’mon,” Arthur says to his horse. She walks over to him and Charles releases her reins. “Charles, I’m gonna need yer help. She can hardly stand on her own, nonetheless get on a horse.”  


“Of course,” he says. Arthur effortlessly lifts you up while Charles guides your legs over the tall horse, adjusting to her broad back. The act is enormously painful, but you do your best to be quiet, not wanting to worry them or attract unwanted attention. Charles holds you steady as Arthur gets on behind you. Once he’s situated, Charles lets you go and mounts Taima. Arthur wraps one arm around you protectively, the other grabs the reins. He turns Artemis to start walking down the hill the way you had originally come. Your strength fails again and you lean against him. The feeling of his chest against your back is soothing though, his warmth seeping into your shivering frame.  


“We need to be quicker,” Charles says, pulling up to Arthur’s level. “She won’t last much longer if we aren’t fast enough.”  


You feel Arthur nod and he nudges Artemis into a steady canter. Agony rips through your entire body, especially your leg and ribs. You clutch onto Arthur’s arm that’s wrapped around you as hard as you can. He keeps muttering apologies but doesn’t slow down. After only a few moments, the pain is too much and the world around you melts into darkness. 

The sound of yelling forces you to wake. Your body twitches painfully, but you’re ready to fight. You struggle, looking for anything to use as a weapon against your captors. A strong arm is wrapped around you, squeezing you tighter. You try throwing it off.  


“Easy girl, easy,” says a gentle voice in your ear. “Yer a’right, I got ya.”  


Your body relaxes, the pain returning with full force. Someone yells again. Dutch? You open your eyes and look around. The sun has set on Horseshoe Overlook, although the horizon glows a dark blue. Several gang members are rushing over to Arthur’s horse, their worried eyes boring into you. John, Charles and Javier all help lift you down from Arthur’s horse, although his arm is still wrapped around you. The pain is indescribable, making you cry out.  


“Careful there!” Arthur yells. “She’s got a bad leg.”  


The three men hold your weight up as Grimshaw charges over to you, yelling for Tilly and Mary-Beth to come help.  


“We need to get her to bed!” she shouts.  


“Put her in my cot,” Arthur says.  


Someone lifts you up, causing you to cry in pain again. The person quickly walks you to Arthur’s tent, setting you down gently onto his cot. You lie still on your back, tears stinging your eyes as your leg clenches painfully against the material. Grimshaw rushes next to the bed, hovering over you, examining the cut on your temple. Arthur stands behind her, looking pale. Is that fear on his face? It can’t be; he’s the toughest man you’ve ever met.  


“Ms. Jackson! Go get some wet cloth. Ms. Gillis? Go wake Herr Strauss, tell him to bring his kit.”  


You hear the two women rush away, following orders. Hosea and Dutch enter the tent, looking worried.  


“What happened?” Hosea asks Arthur.  


“Murphrees must’ve got her when she was out huntin’. Found her in Roanoke Ridge. They shot her horse. Don’t know how she managed to escape, but we found her near the body.”  


“Animals!” Dutch mutters angrily.  


Tilly enters the tent holding several soaked cloths, handing them to Grimshaw. She takes one, rings it out on the ground, and begins cleaning the cut on your head. You try to lean away from her hand as it causes the wound to flare, but you’ve hardly any strength left.  


“It ain’t too deep,” she says after a few moments. “It’s already closin’ up.”  


Strauss enters the crowded tent, holding his medical kit. Dutch and Hosea leave to make room.  


“Susan, vat is going on?” He looks down at you, his question answered. “Got yourself into a spot of trouble again, Ms. Y/L/N?” He turns to Arthur. “I will need a chair to work.”  


Arthur turns and grabs him one of the rickety chairs from near the table, setting it down next to you. Strauss sits on it, opening up his kit. He looks at your leg, the dirty garment soaked in blood. As he begins rummaging through his kit, Grimshaw turns to the two men.  


“Let me and the girls take care of her,” she says, gesturing to Strauss for the kit. “I bet she’ll need stitches on that leg.”  


Strauss peers at her over his tiny glasses then hands her the kit. She stands, calling over Mary-Beth and Karen and practically shoves Arthur and Strauss out of the tent. “Mr. Morgan, make yourself useful and go get some alcohol,” she barks.  


Once the other girls are in the tent and Arthur’s returned with a bottle of whisky, Grimshaw pulls the tent flaps down to shield you from the eyes of the others in camp. The only light you can see is that from the candle Tilly sets on the table and the lantern in Karen’s hand. You immediately begin to panic, remembering being locked in the cage with nothing but firelight to illuminate the darkness. You begin struggling, and Grimshaw grabs you, forcing you back on the cot with surprising strength.  


“You’re a’right, Ms. Y/L/N,” she says softly. “Ya need to settle down.”  


“Here,” Karen says, approaching you with the bottle. She kneels down and helps you drink some of the firey liquid. It stings your throat, all the way down to your empty stomach. You cough a bit, wincing at the pain from your ribs.  


“You think she might have a broken rib?” Mary-Beth asks as she and Grimshaw start working your undergarments off.  


“She might, we’ll worry about that later,” Grimshaw says, preparing a needle and thread. You hardly care that you lie half naked in front of them. She reaches her hands and barely touches your naked thigh, causing you to wince in pain again and try to move your leg away from her. Grimshaw grabs the bottle from Karen, tipping it onto a clean rag. Then she starts dabbing at the hole in your thigh, setting fire to the nerves and sending agony throughout your entire body. She’s whispering to you as Tilly and Karen hold you down, but after only a few moments, the pain is too much and you sink gratefully into darkness once more. 

*************************************************************************************************************

Arthur turns as Grimshaw forces him and Strauss out of the tent, getting one last glimpse of you on his cot. You look awful, your undergarments covered in dirt and blood. He sees your pale face, tear tracks smudging the dirt, your eyes misting over in pain. He knows you’re in good hands with the girls, but he’s still afraid. Afraid you might not leave that tent.  


He goes to Artemis and pats her nose fondly. Considering he’s only had her for a short while, he’s already quite bonded to her. She’s a good horse; strong, fast and brave. He notices a trail of blood from the place you were sitting in the saddle, streaking down the leather. He reaches into his saddle bag for a cloth and saddle soap, cleaning it up and then feeding her an apple.  


“Yer a brave girl,” he says, patting her neck. Hosea approaches him.  


“That poor girl. Looks like they put her through hell.”  


“I swear, I’ll kill every one of those bastards,” he doesn’t look at Hosea, continuing to pat Artemis’s neck.  


“She’s a strong one, Arthur. She’ll be a’right. Grimshaw will make it impossible for her to die. Besides, she’s too stubborn to give up.”  


“I know. I just… I wish I could have told her how sorry I am before all this mess.”  


“Well, ain’t no use wishin’ for what can never be. The best you can do now is show her you’ll be there for her. Especially now. I know that horse meant a lot to her.”  


“I can relate. I still miss Boadicea.”  


“Exactly. Yer the best person for her, Arthur.”  


Arthur finally turns and looks at the old man. “What if she don’t wanna see me? I said some bad things to her, Hosea. If I were her, I wouldn’t want to see me.”  


“Stop assumin’, Arthur. Least ya can do is give her a chance to prove she still wants ya around.”  


Hosea pats him on the back, then turns and leaves, lighting his pipe. Arthur stands for a moment, glancing at his tent, which is still closed. He notices Charles, standing next to Pearson, and heads over to him.  


“Charles, thank ya again for helpin’ me. I don’t think I would’ve found her on my own.”  


“Of course, Arthur. Just glad we got to her in time.”  


“When we found Rain, did ya go through her saddle bags?”  


“Yes, I grabbed that, her gunbelt, and her satchel. They’re on Taima still.”  


“I’ll take ‘em, put ‘em with her tent.”  


Arthur leaves and approaches the dark appaloosa, patting her as he removes your things. He places the saddle bag and satchel by your tent, but notices the flap on your satchel has swung open when he set it down. He sees the rich, dark leather of your journal. He knows he really should leave it alone. He’d be angry if someone read through his journal if he was incapacitated. The temptation is strong, though, and he slips it out.  


He sits down in your tent, keeping an ear open to hear any sound coming from his own tent. Coming from you. He opens the journal. If he had been expecting long and deep passages, he’d be disappointed. He reminds himself that you’re still learning to write, and in fact the first few pages are filled with your practicing with letters and words. Every couple of pages, he runs into a sketch. Nothing as elegant as his own, but they still make him smile. A large horse fills a page, one that could only be Artemis. There are several other sketches of a horse; he recognizes the long slender legs of Rain. His heart hurts for you, knowing the pain of losing such a close companion.  


He flips through a few more pages and finds a passage in your childish handwriting. It’s dated from the morning after your argument. He reads it, hesitating when he hits the questions you ask yourself. Questions regarding your feelings for him, why you couldn’t just view him as a friend. He closes the journal then, feeling ashamed for going through your private entries. Guilt wracks through him. He puts the journal back in your satchel and then stares out into the world. Every now and then, Mary-Beth, Tilly, or Karen leave his tent, going back to it with more cloths, alcohol, or some other supplies. He stands up at one point, grabbing Mary-Beth as she’s heading out of the tent.  


“How is she?” he asks gently.  


Mary-Beth hesitates. “Well, her leg’s pretty bad. Wound’s deep. We thought she might have a broken rib but think they might just be bruised. As long as she don’t get gangrene, she’ll be okay.”  


Arthur sighs with relief. “Is she awake? She’s been real quiet.”  


“No, think the pain was too much. She’s been gone a while now. Grimshaw’s almost done with her though.”  


Grimshaw pokes her head through the canvas flaps, almost as though her ears were burning. “Ms. Gaskill! I seen slugs move faster than you! Go get those wraps now!” She disappears back into the tent as Mary-Beth scurries away.  


Arthur decides it won’t help to wait and pace around his tent. He goes to the campfire where Swanson sits, pulled away in a morphine-induced haze. He lowers himself down by the fire. After a short period, he dozes off into a fretful sleep. 

Someone shakes him awake, grabbing him by the shoulder. He jumps a bit at their touch. It’s Hosea, holding a cup of coffee to Arthur. He takes it from him with a nod of his head, drinking. The sun is just rising over the eastern horizon, turning the trees, grass, and clouds into gold.  


Hosea sits on the crate next to Arthur. “Well, Grimshaw and the others are done. Think she’ll be okay. Just needs to rest.”  


Arthur whips around on the ground, looking behind him at his tent. The flaps are drawn up again and he can just make out your form on his cot, wrapped tight in a blanket. He pushes himself quickly to his feet and marches over.  


Grimshaw sits in the seat close to your head, knitting away at an old blanket. He sees you lying on your back, unconscious. The tiny cut on your temple is clean and free of blood, although a large bruise surrounds it. He can’t see your leg since it’s tucked under the blanket. Your skin is clean, the dirt has been washed away, and your wearing fresh undergarments.  


“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” Grimshaw greets him.  


“Mornin’ to ya. How is she?”  


Grimshaw sighs, putting down her knitting. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, as long as we can keep her leg clean. It wasn’t a big wound, but it sure was deep.”  


“What was it that got her?”  


“Arrow, probably. I reckon it’ll be a good six weeks or so before she can use it. I expect she’ll be asleep a few days. Poor thing, she’s exhausted.”  


Arthur gazes at your pale face, approaching the cot. Grimshaw stands and steps away from the chair.  


“Ya mind sitting with her a bit? I doubt she’ll need anything, but I’d rather someone watch over her.”  


Arthur nods. “Of course.” He sits down in the vacant chair, sipping his coffee. He sets the cup onto his table and then turns to you. He watches the steady fall and rise of your chest as you breathe in your sleep. He lifts up the blanket away from your arm, exposing it. He watches goosebumps ripple over your skin. Realizing how cold you must have been, he gently grabs your hand with his and holds it. If only you would wake up.

*************************************************************************************************************

The smell of campfires, Pearson’s stew and horses mixed with the pleasant aroma of pine trees and grass fills your nose. You’re lying on your back on something that’s too soft to be the ground but too hard to be a bed. You feel a slight ache in your head, and the pain in your leg and ribs are demanding your attention, although not as harshly as they were before when you were fleeing your captors and when Arthur found you. You dip pleasantly into that memory, although it’s filled with fear and agony. The feeling of him holding you tightly; you can recall his smell, the sound of his heart beating. You remember the feeling of his hand on your back.  


You sigh deeply, reveling in the feeling of the memory, when something warm squeezes your hand. Your eyes snap awake and you jerk your head up, trying to wrench your hand away from whatever is touching you.  


“Woah, easy girl!” Arthur says, sitting next to you. It’s midday and you spot the Van der Linde camp around you. The campfires burn merrily, the horses snort as they munch on the grass. You can see different members of the gang moving about, going on their daily chores. You remember now that you were placed in Arthur’s cot. You settle back down onto it, quietly warmed to the fact that Arthur’s rough hand still embraces your own. He squeezes it again as you settle down.  


“Ya had us worried there, darlin’,” he says. You turn your head to stare up at him, his blue eyes lock with yours. You swallow hard, your throat clenches painfully. You realize how thirsty you are.  


“How long has it been?” you ask hoarsely.  


“Charles and I found ya four days ago. Ya been asleep most of it, and ya got a bit feverish. Grimshaw thinks you’ll be okay, though. Yer safe now.”  


You nod, closing your eyes again.  


“Ya need a drink?” he asks quietly. You nod again. His hand leaves yours, making you feel colder. You open your eyes to look for him, but don’t have to search far. He hasn’t left the chair, only turned in it to his table. He rotates back to you, holding a cup of water.  
“Here, let me help ya.”  
He slides one arm under your head, lifting you up into a sitting position and handing you the cup. You groan in pain; you’re ribs still hurt quite a bit.  


“Sorry. I imagine there ain’t a place ya don’t hurt,” he says gently as you sip the water gratefully. You drink the whole cup and hand it back to him. After he sets it down on the crates behind you, he looks at you again.  


“Ya wanna lie down?”  


“No,” you mumble.  


“A’right,” he says, adjusting the pillow behind you so they can cushion your back against the crates and then removes his arm from your neck. He adjusts the blanket so it’s covering your lower half, keeping you warm.  


“Thank you,” you say, you’re voice cracking a bit.  


“For what?”  


“For coming after me,” you say, your eyes watering a bit. You aren’t sure why. Maybe it’s just from the constant pain stemming from your leg. “I didn’t think anyone would come looking for me. Not so soon, anyways. I told Hosea I’d be gone a few days. How’d you know to look for me?”  


“I don’t know,” he says, hiding his eyes with the rim of his hat. “I just… felt it in my gut. Glad I did, though.”  


“Me too,” you smile, but then you let it fade. “Why did you come, though?”  


He looks up at you. “What ya mean?”  


“Why did you come looking for me? After I said those things to you,” you hesitate, wondering if you really want to open that door again. “About Mary. I’m real sorry, Arthur. I was dumb. I never should have said them.”  


“No, darlin’,” he says, looking at you again. His hand slips around yours again and squeezes. “You were right, ‘bout all of it. I was a fool for gettin’ angry. I always get angry when others mention her. ‘S my fault, really, that this happened to you. If I had controlled my temper, ya never would have left.”  


“Maybe, but you didn’t throw me into the hands of those monsters. That’s my own doing, and I don’t want you to feel sorry for it. Promise me?”  


He stares into your eyes for a moment before nodding. You suddenly remember being in their grasp, how those horrible men shot your horse and locked you up. You look away from Arthur as tears begin rolling down your cheeks.  


“Ya a’right? Where’s it hurt?” he asks, sounding worried.  


“No, I’m okay. Arthur, they got Rain.”  


He sighs out heavily, squeezing your hand again. “I know, sweetheart. I know. We got yer things off of her. I’m real sorry, though. I know she meant a lot to you.”  


He rubs circles into your hand as you silently cry, letting the pain of your loss ripple through your body, ripping out of your chest in the form of sobs. More than anything, you wish he would pull you close the way he did when he found you and let you escape from the world for a moment, but you don’t dare ask. You remind yourself he doesn’t have feelings for you, he’s only doing this because he feels guilty that you ran off and nearly got yourself killed.  


Strauss suddenly marches into the tent. Arthur releases your hand quickly.  


“Herr Morgan,” he sniffs haughtily.  


“Yes, Herr Strauss.”  


“I must say your relaxed stance on collecting debts has not made a great impression on me lately,” he scolds. Arthur turns to him with a glare.  


“What you talkin’ ‘bout?”  


“While you were out rescuing Ms. Y/L/N, I had to send Herr Bell to collect the debt from that Downes’s fellow!”  


Arthur stands up, rising high above Strauss. It’s a rather impressive sight. “Why is that a problem? Debt got collected, didn’t it? Why you care so much about who’s deliverin’ the beatin’s?”  


You’re surprised Strauss doesn’t flinch. You’ve known tougher men who would have fled at the sight of Arthur looking at them the way he is now.  


“Because you know how Herr Bell is,” Strauss snaps. “I just got back from Valentine. Turns out that Downes’s vas already very sick and ven Herr Bell showed up to collect the debt, he beat him to his death. Despite that, Herr Bell returned with no money! Said they had nothing to offer as payment. If you had gone, I know things would be different.”  


Arthur takes a step towards Strauss. “Well that was yer first mistake. Lendin’ someone money who couldn’t pay it off. The next was sendin’ Micah out! Everyone here knows he’s a blood-thirsty bastard. I was gonna take care of it, Strauss, but she needed help!” He gestures to you in his cot where you’re wiping your eyes.  


“You should have gone to collect the debt before chasing her! Now I doubt I’ll ever get it back.”  


His fists and jaws clench. “You tellin’ me your damn money is more important than her life, ya sack of shit?!”  


Strauss suddenly hunches over as though worried that Arthur might hit him. By the look on his face, you wouldn’t be surprised if he did.  


“Now, now, Herr Morgan, that is not vat I meant, I vas only saying…”  


“I don’t wanna hear anymore about your damn debts!” Arthur roars, making you jump. “From now on, ya can find someone else to collect ‘em, I ain’t doin’ it no more! Now get outta my sight!”  


Strauss scurries away, tail between his legs. Arthur turns back to you, simmering down. He sits down heavily in his chair, rubbing his eyes.  


“You okay?” you ask quietly, your voice still rough.  


“Yeah. Can’t tell ya how much I hated that job. Collectin’ his debts from folk who couldn’t pay.”  


“So why did you do it in the first place? Debt collectin’, I mean.”  


“Ah, started a long time ago. I owed Strauss a favor, told me I could pay it back by collectin’ em. Been doin’ it ever since. Turns out I’m as good at beatin’ people as killin’ em.”  


The two of you sit in silence as you study his face. He glares at the ground in front of him. You can tell by the way his jaw sits and the light in his eyes how miserable he feels.  


“Are you going to stop?” you ask hesitantly. He turns his face to you, his eyes softening.  


“I want to. There’s few things I’ve done that is more repellant than takin’ money from people who’re starvin’. I prefer good ol’ fashioned robbin’ to it anyways. Seems kinder somehow.”  


You reach out and grab his hand, folding it in yours. He looks surprised, almost as though he can’t believe you would be comforting him: an angry, bitter outlaw who admits he’s killed people and taken their money. He wraps his fingers around yours and squeezes. At that moment, all you want to do is make him realize how deeply you feel for him; how sorry for him you are. He shouldn’t have to carry this burden alone. You remind yourself of the decision you made before you got captured. For your own happiness and well-being, you will never let Arthur Morgan know how you feel again.


	8. Finding Courage

Warnings: swearing, angst, grief, assload of fluff (this is it, kiddos!)  
Word Count: ~10,000  
**Author’s note: This chapter mentions a book that wasn’t published until 1999, but humor me. It’s fiction! 

It’s been three weeks since Arthur brought you back to camp. Your ribs and head have mostly healed and cause little pain. Your leg, on the other hand, still has a ways to go. You are starting to get bored and stir crazy, trapped in camp. Strauss determined, shortly after you came back, that you would need around 6 weeks of recuperation, and Grimshaw is hell bent that you don’t leave Arthur’s tent until you can walk again.  


Nearly everyone in camp has come to your aid in relieving the boredom. Mary-Beth will sometimes come and sit next to you, discussing books as the two of you knit. She brings you the materials so you don’t have to leave the cot. Javier occasionally sits next to you and plays his guitar or tells you stories about Mexico. One day Jack even comes, offering you a string of flowers to wear around your head that he made himself. You feel extraordinarily grateful to all of them. However, no one can light a candle to Arthur’s efforts.  


He’s hardly left camp, determined to take care of you. He brings you coffee every morning and Pearson’s stew every night. As much as you appreciate it, you also wish he’d go out and do things for himself the way he did before you left. He has done one thing for you that you have greatly enjoyed. Nearly every afternoon, he comes into the tent with a book and he reads to you. Sometimes, he’ll hand you the book and have you do it, but you secretly adore it when he’s the one reading. You love hearing his deep, gentle voice. His face softer when he reads, brightening his eyes.  


You feel bad for taking the man’s tent and cot. A week after you returned, you tried to offer it back to him, saying you could go sleep in your own tent and bedroll, but he refused, stating you needed it more than him. He’s been spending his nights sleeping close to you, usually on the ground propped up against the crates.  


It’s nearly afternoon now and Arthur’s been in camp all day. You’ve been keeping an eye on him, watching as he does chores during the morning. He approaches you, smiling.  


“Hey there, Y/N,” he greets, sitting down in the chair that’s remained in the tent. “I need to go huntin’ again, Pearson’s gettin’ real low. But listen, I ain’t gonna go far. When I get back, we can read some more if ya like.”  


“Sounds good. I hope Hosea has a new book, think we’ve breezed through his collection already.”  


He chuckles. “I’m sure he has one ya ain’t read. ‘Sides, I’m shoar Mary-Beth would be more than happy to lend ya one of hers.”  


You sigh, a soft smile on your lips. “Wish I could go with you,” you admit. “I’m getting so bored! If only this damn leg would get better.”  


“I know, ya just gotta be patient. Anyways, I need to get goin’.”  


He stands up and heads off. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been careful with your emotions around him. You’ve done nothing to show you’re still interested, despite it being completely true. If anything, your feelings have gotten stronger, but so has your friendship, and you refuse to let anything ruin that again. He climbs onto Artemis’s saddle and leaves after waving to you.  


You wave back, feeling your heart sink. A few days after you had returned, you remembered what happened to Rain. The pain from your leg has been nothing in comparison to the loss of your horse. You tell yourself she was just a horse, an animal. Still the pain of losing such a close friend and companion is so deep sometimes you feel like you’re drowning. You’ve been trying your best to hide it all from Arthur and everyone else, but there are few things you’ve done that are more difficult than suppressing them. Now that no one is around to see you, you lie down on your side, facing the wagon. You silently acknowledge the pain now and let the tears stream down your face, soaking the pillow. It feels like someone shot you in the chest, leaving a gaping hole that cannot be filled. You wish you couldn’t feel anything, it would be so much easier. You purposefully clench your leg in a way that you know will force it to flare, the physical pain is a great distraction and far preferable to what you feel in your heart.  


You must have fallen asleep; someone shakes your shoulder gently.  


“Y/N, ya awake?” Arthur quietly asks.  


You turn, rubbing your sore eyes, looking up at him and sitting up. “Yeah, yeah I am.”  


“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya. I have somethin’ for ya, though.”  


You look at him as he sits down and reaches into his satchel. “I stopped in Valentine, needed to get somethin’ from the store. Found this, thought ya might like it.”  


He hands you a thin book. The green cover has a sketch of a horse’s head, framed in gold ivy. You read the words above the sketch. “Black Beauty,” you say.  


“Yeah, thought it might be different. I ain’t never read it before. Figured we could try it.”  


You smile as your eyes begin to water. “Thank you, Arthur.”  


He smiles sadly at you. “I know ya miss her, darlin’. Rain. She was a good horse.”  


“The best,” you say, wiping your eyes. He grabs your hand, running a thumb over it. “It’s hard, sweetheart. I still miss Boadicea. Every day, ‘s matter of fact.”  


“But you have Artemis, and I know how much you like her.”  


“I do, but that don’t mean I don’t miss Boadicea. What I’m tryin’ to say is it’s okay to miss her, but that don’t mean ya can’t get another horse and care about it, too.”  


You can’t prevent the tears falling again. “I just… it makes me feel so weak to feel this way. Sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe.”  


“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand. “But to be honest, if ya didn’t feel this way, I’d be more worried about you.”  


You sit there in silence, trying to wipe the tears from your face, which seems pointless since they keep falling. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thin cloth, handing it to you.  


“You wanna tell me about her?” he asks softly, taking hold of your hand again.  


You smile, despite the pain. “Yeah” you sniff hard, composing yourself enough to talk. “When I was about 10 or so, my grandma had this big, black mare. She got pregnant. I was staying in her cabin when the horse went into labor. My grandma was one of the toughest people I ever known. She had me help her with the foaling. While we were in the barn, a huge thunderstorm came on us. Rained like the devil. My grandma handed her to me right after she was born. I held her head in my lap while we waited for her to start breathing. She was so goddamn cute! We stayed up for hours, cleaning her up, petting her all over. Then she finally stood. When she started nursin’, my grandma told me to name her. I remember listening to the rain outside; that’s how I named her.”  


You wipe your eyes as a new wave of tears hits you. Arthur rubs your hand encouragingly. “My grandma told me that she wanted me to take care of the foal. I didn’t live with her, but I visited her every day after that. She showed me how to train her to take a halter, bridle, saddle. Then she taught me how to groom her, clean her feet. When she was about a year, she taught me how to ride on her. We learned together. I can’t tell you how many trail rides I went on with my grandma after that. She used to tell me how Rain would pine for me when I wasn’t there.”  


You smile fondly at the memory, your chest clenches painfully. “Then my grandma died a few years later. My dad sold every horse she had, including Rain’s mom. Made a lot of money, too. He tried to sell Rain as well. That was the scariest time of my life. I thought I was gonna lose her. Somehow, though, I convinced him to let me keep her with his grumpy old gelding. She came with me when I got married. I remember one time my husband was outside. He was real drunk, stumblin’ all over the place. He somehow made it inside our pasture. Rain walked over to him just so she could kick him!” you chuckle, Arthur joining in. “Probably a good thing he was drunk; he couldn’t remember a thing about it later on. I’ve always been able to trust her. Knew she’d never let me down. She was the only thing I could depend on after my grandma died. And now I’ve lost her!”  


Your voice gives out as the pain overtakes you, forcing your knees to your chest. Arthur lets go of your hand and places it on your back, rubbing gently. He stays silent as you sob into your hands. When you begin to quiet down, he speaks up.  


“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I never knew you had that kind of connection to her. Makes me and Boadicea seem like a regular pair of fools. But I want ya to know something.” He takes his hand and places it under your chin, turning your wet face to look at him. His thumb wipes away a tear from your cheek. “She’s happy, I’m shoar. She’s up there in a great prairie, where she can eat, drink and play all day long. She still remembers ya, though, and no matter what happens, she’ll always be with ya. Don’t ever doubt it. She wants ya to be happy because ya made her so happy.”  


You close your eyes, fresh tears dripping from your eyes. Arthur’s face is so close you can feel his hot breath on you. You open your eyes and see yourself reflected in his blue ones, the scar on his chin. His scent envelopes you; that smell of pine and leather. He’s starting to lean in, you can’t stop looking at his lips.  


Reverend Swanson stumbles over, waving around a bottle. “One night when I was frisky,” he starts singing loudly. Arthur and you dart away from each other, startled by his sudden presence. “After drinkin’ some potent whisky!” He continues on. His red, puffy eyes find the pair of you and he smiles broadly, making his clumsy way to you.  


“Hey, you two! I want ya to know,” he stumbles, leaning against the pole that holds up the canvas above your heads. “That you are children of God! Children of God!” He suddenly slumps onto the ground, unconscious.  


“Damn it, Swanson,” Arthur grumbles as you giggle. He stands up and picks up Swanson, kicking his empty bottle away. You wipe your eyes as he heaves the Reverend back to his own cot. You hear someone calling his name after that, asking him for his help.

Sometime after the incident with Swanson, you’re lying in the cot still. You’ve managed to compose yourself after your meltdown, but you still hold the book Arthur brought you. You haven’t opened it, waiting for him to return so you can read it together.  


Charles enters the tent, holding a long, wooden cane. He looks at you; he seems nervous. “Hello, Y/N,” he greets.  


“Hey there, Charles,” you smile.  


He holds up the cane. “I, ugh… I made this for you. I know you won’t be able to walk for a bit, but I thought it could help you.”  


You look closely at the cane as you take it from him. It’s made of dark wood, the handle has been carved into the intricate form of an owl. You run your thumb over its orb-like eyes.  


“Charles, this is amazing!”  


He gives you a rare smile. “I just wanted to let you know how much this camp’s appreciated you. Ya know, Pearson’s stew hasn’t been this lean on meat since Colter.”  


You chortle. “Well, that means a lot to me, Charles. Thank you so much.”  


He nods and leaves. You glance back at the cane, admiring the delicate carvings. You feel honored to receive such a beautiful gift, despite the fact that you and Charles have rarely even spoken to one another.  


Arthur returns, followed by John, Bill and the O’Driscoll prisoner, whom you learned a while back is named Kieran Duffy. He looks around nervously, particularly at the tree he’s been tied to since the gang arrived here. You’ve spent hardly any time around him since you yourself were a prisoner of sorts until recently and didn’t want to be seen interacting with a known enemy. You come to a decision, determined to pull it off.  


You throw off the blanket, swinging your legs so they dangle off the cot. Your thigh complains at the movement, but you ignore it. You press your feet to the ground, basking in the feeling of grass against your skin again. You grasp the cane as hard as you can, using it to begin lifting yourself up.  


“Woah, woah!” a voice calls out, getting close to you. Lifting up your head, you see it’s Arthur. “What ya doin’, girl?”  


He approaches you so quickly you sit back down on the cot.  


“I’m bored, Arthur. I been layin’ here for weeks! I wanna get up, see the world. Even the other side of camp would be a welcome sight.”  


He huffs, standing in front of you. “I know. I don’t know if yer strong enough, though. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yer leg again.”  


You straighten up. “I can handle it just fine, Arthur. Besides, I have this to help me.”  


You lift up the cane. Arthur grabs and inspects it. “Where you get this from?”  


“Charles. Said he made it for me.”  


“Well, that’s real fine,” he says, smiling as he hands it back to you. “Tell ya what, ya can try standin’ and walkin’, but I ain’t leavin’ yer side.”  


“Deal.” You situate the cane again, using it to pull yourself up. Arthur offers you his hand, which you take. He helps lift you up, letting you put a good portion of your weight against him as you slowly start to press down on your leg. Although it hurts like hell, it seems like it will hold your weight. For now, at least.  


Arthur takes a step away from you, still holding onto your hand. He gestures to you, telling you to walk forward to him. You take a hesitant step, moving the cane with your leg. You can tell instantly by the shaking and the pain that if Arthur weren’t there, you’d have fallen already. You look down, shaking your head.  


“Maybe you’re right, Arthur. I don’t know if I can do this.”  


He sighs heavily. “I ain’t surprised. Well, can ya stand on it at least?”  


You slowly nod, a little unsure.  


“Good. Ya mind if I…” he gestures his arms towards you, wrapping one around your waist while the other approaches your knees. You realize he’s offering to pick you up. You nod your head and drape an arm over his shoulder before he sweeps you up effortlessly into his arms. You hold on tight to your cane; it dangles from your grip as he swings around and walks towards the hitching post where Artemis is tied. You see Hosea and Grimshaw looking at the two of you, smiling. You try your best to prevent the blush in your cheeks as he carries you over to the large grey horse, setting you down close to her. He stands behind you, letting you use him as a pillar to lean on in case your leg gives out.  


You test your aching thigh, finding it capable of holding you up. You reach up with your arms and pat Artemis’s neck. She rumbles softly, the sound low and deep, swishing her tail. Her ears point back so she can hear you, her eyes soft as she chews slowly.  


“Ah, knew she’d remember ya,” Arthur says softly behind you. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a treat, handing it to you. You take it and offer it to the large horse. You continue to pet her as she munches on it.  


After a few moments, your leg begins to remind you that it’s still wounded. You do your best to turn to Arthur. “Thank you for this,” you say, smiling up at him, limping. “You’ve no idea how nice it is to pet a horse again. Even if it’s not…”  


His hand reaches up and settles on your upper arm, his thumb tracing lines. Without a word, he sweeps you up into his arms and towards the tent. You hear from the direction of the campfire the sound of Javier playing his guitar.  


“Arthur, wait. Will you take me to the campfire?”  


He stops and looks. “Shoar, why not?”  


He changes directions and takes you over, setting you down carefully on one of the logs. You adjust your leg so the pain is hardly noticeable. Arthur sits down close to you, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.  


Javier stops playing, looking up at you. “Hola, Y/N,” he says.  


“Hi, Javier. Please don’t stop playing on my account.”  


He smiles as his fingers expertly pluck at the strings again. “Glad to see you finally out of that tent.”  


“Me too. Arthur here’s too kind to let me use it, but I’m ready to leave.”  
The two men chuckle. Arthur hands you his cigarette. You take it and drag from it as Javier begins singing in Spanish. The sound of the guitar and his voice washes over you. You’d take this any day over Dutch’s gramophone, especially since you swear Dutch likes to play it either late at night or unforgivably early in the morning. It’s amazing it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared. You hand Arthur back his cigarette, trading smiles with him. 

A few days later, you’re standing in camp, leaning against the table where Lenny and Micah play five finger fillet. You’ve been standing up each day, even taking a few steps, trying to gain the strength back in your legs. You feel particularly proud today since you managed to walk all the way to the table by yourself, despite the pain. You had to use the cane, of course, and it took an unimaginably long time, but you did it. Your leg throbs painfully now, having been strained by the walk.  


Arthur’s not in camp. Dutch had sent him out early this morning to go meet with someone named Trelawney with Charles and Javier to retrieve Sean. Word is that Sean is being held near Blackwater by bounty hunters, so the group left to go and get him back. You have to say you’re looking forward to seeing him again. He always has a way to lighten up the mood in camp. You just hope nothing goes wrong.  


Hosea approaches you as you lean up against the table.  


“Hello, Y/N,” he says as he uses a mortar and pestle to grind up some herbs. You recognize it instantly. After Grimshaw and the others had you cleaned and stitched up, Hosea made a highly useful combination of grounded herbs to help with the pain. Swanson had given you a dose of his morphine previously, but you didn’t like how fuzzy it made you feel. It also tended to make you feel nauseous and sick. You wondered how he managed to take it so frequently. Soon afterwards, Hosea introduced you to the herbs. They didn’t knock out the pain as effectively as the morphine, but at least they didn’t make you sleepy.  


“Keep on giving me that stuff, Hosea, and I’ll live to be a hundred,” you joke as he leans next to you.  


He laughs. “That’s the idea. How’s that book you and Arthur been readin’? What’s it called again?”  


“Black Beauty,” you say fondly. You and Arthur have been reading from it nearly every day since he brought it to you. You’ve grown fond of it, even though it makes you miss Rain.  


“That’s the one. Ya mind if I borrow it when yer done?”  


“Sure. Don’t know if it’s really up your alley, though.” Arthur mentioned that Hosea was more of a mystery fan when it came to books.  


“I’m always open to new stories,” he says with a sly smile. “Arthur tells me yer gettin’ real good with readin’ and writin’.”  


You smile. “Yeah. Hard to believe only two months ago, I couldn’t read. Seems like a lifetime ago that I was runnin’ on my own.”  


“It’s lucky Arthur found ya. You’ve been good for each other.”  


You smile wider, staring off into the camp as Hosea continues to grind the herbs. Lenny, standing in the trees, shouts that someone’s coming. Javier prances in on Boaz, his silver paint; Sean sitting behind him. He hollers loudly, calling the entire camp’s attention to him. Charles follows behind, rolling his dark eyes.  


“Fear no more, ladies and gents!” Sean yells loudly in his thick Irish accent, spreading his arms wide open. “The life of te party is back!”  


You can’t help but laugh as he hops off Boaz; you can tell by Javier’s face that he was quite the companion. Javier dismounts, muttering in Spanish, stalking off to the campfire.  


“Ol’ Grimshaw!” Sean yells as Susan walks past, holding a cup of coffee. “Don’t ya worry, lass! I’ll get these girls whipped up into shape again! Pearson!” he yells at the cook, skinning a rabbit. “That pot o’ yours will never ‘ave been fuller now I’m back!”  


Pearson and Grimshaw laugh. Sean turns and sees you next to Hosea. He notices the the way you hold your leg, cane in hand.  


“Ah, it wouldn’t be right if ya didn’t have some new injury to show off!” he guffaws, approaching you. You can’t help but chuckle with him. “You and John could be best mates! Ol’ Scar Face and the One-Legged Belle!”  


You guffaw, “Yeah, ‘cept I still have my leg, ya dolt!”  


He stands next to you and drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, not noticing your attempts to gently shrug it off.  


“Ah, o’ course, o’ course. Bet ya gave te bastard who tried rippin’ it off quite a time, though. Hardly known a better butcher than you, ‘cept for old Arthur maybe!”  


You giggle, finally pulling his arm off of you. Hosea walks off, shaking his head fondly. Just then, Arthur trots in on Artemis. You turn to face him, smiling widely. He smiles back as he dismounts.  


“Ah, and if it isn’t ol’ grumpy Morgan now! Don’t know why ya hang wit’ him so much. Such a downer, that one!”  


You laugh, waving him off. Sean struts away, calling to Uncle. Arthur comes and stands in front of you, hands on his gun belt.  


“Ya manage to get over here on yer own?” he asks.  


You smile proudly. “I sure did! Only took me half an hour. Glad you got Sean out of there, even if he talks too much.”  


“Yeah, he might be a loud mouth and a braggart, but he’s a good kid.” He smiles, reaching into his satchel. He pulls his hand out, which is clenched around something.  


“I, ugh,” he begins before clearing his throat loudly. “Found this when I was headin’ back. Well, after I helped some wildlife photographer get his bag back from a greedy coyote. Reminded me of you.”  


He opens his hand and reveals a necklace made of a silver chain. Dangling from it inlaid in a silver clasp is a small sapphyre. You look up at him after admiring the stone.  


“Arthur, you didn’t have to get me this,” you say. “How much this cost you?”  


He huffs. “Technically, it didn’t cost me nothin’. Some guy on the trail bumped into me, then demanded I apologize.”  


You laugh. “I imagine that didn’t end well for him.”  


“No, it didn’t. He’s fine, though, if yer wonderin’. I only took his money and found this in his pocket. I was gonna sell it until I saw it proper. Thought you might like it.”  


Your heart swells as he puts it around your neck, latching the chain to the hook. You admire it as it rests on your chest, then look up at him again.  


“Thank you, Arthur. But seriously, you should have sold it. Bet ya could’ve gotten twelve dollars for it, if not more.”  


“Nah, I think I prefer it this way. Looks nice on you.”  


His hand comes up to settle on your upper arm. You find yourself placing your hand on his chest, feeling the stamped leather of his red vest. He starts pulling you closer, shrinking the gap between you. His eyes are mirroring yours.  


You hear someone yell Arthur’s name. John walks up and the two of you split immediately, hoping he didn’t see you standing so close to one another.  


“Morgan,” he says again. The look on his face says he didn’t notice your close proximity to one another, and if he did it doesn’t show. “Mary-Beth said somethin’ ‘bout that train goin’ south to Saint Denise. I think we oughta start plannin’ on it, see if we can take it.”  


Arthur sighs in frustration as you lean back on the table. “Robbin’ trains are a pain in the ass.”  


“Yeah, but she did some diggin’. The take should be real good. ‘Sides, I have a few ideas for it.”  


“Fine,” Arthur says. He glances at you before leaving with John, heading for the other side of camp. You clutch your cane and start preparing yourself to walk back to Arthur’s tent.  


“Well, well,” says a greasy voice from behind you. “Looks like Ms. High-and-Mighty decided to grace us with her presence and leave her cozy little tent!”  


You turn and glare at Micah.  


He sneers at you. “Was wonderin’ when you’d finally leave Morgan’s cot. Not that I’m surprised. I thought you’d have invited him into your bed a long time ago.”  


You stand up as straight as you can, ignoring the pain. “I ain’t that kind of girl, Mr. Bell. Besides, I’d let him or anyone else in this camp in my bed before I’d ever let you even come close.”  


He snickers. “Ya always did have a soft spot for him, didn’t ya? Well, I hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but he’s still got somethin’ for that Mary girl. Now I bet she’s a fine woman. The kind that could make a man wanna kill another man. Doubt anyone would even look twice at you if she were around.”  


Your temper flares. You know he’s just trying to upset you. “How would you know, Micah? Ya ever seen her? I doubt it, the sight of you is enough to make anyone nauseous.”  


Laughing again, he approaches you. “Because Morgan only goes after pretty girls.” He grins nastily at you as he leaves. You wish your leg was stronger, you’d already be giving him a good beating. Instead, you turn away and stare off into camp, trying to ignore what he said. The warm feeling you had before is gone. You clasp the cane again, heading back to the tent.

Night has come. Pearson, Karen and Uncle have pulled out bottles of alcohol to celebrate the return of Sean. The Irish man stands on a box, giving an almost taunting yet endearing speech about how everything’s going to be okay now he’s back. You can’t help laughing with the others as you lean on Pearson’s wagon. Karen approaches you with a bottle of whisky.  


“Here, girl!” she proclaims, handing you the bottle.  


“Nah, I really shouldn’t. I just took some more of those herbs Hosea’s been givin’ me, I doubt they’ll mix well with that.”  


“Ah, don’t be so worried! ‘Sides, it can’t hurt too much.” She winks and shoves the bottle in your hand and you take a sip. She walks off, swaying a bit.  


You grasp your cane and walk over to the campfire slowly. Uncle, Sean, Javier, Pearson and Arthur sit around it, drinking and joking. As you sit next to Arthur, Uncle breaks out into song.  


“When I was just a lad, you know, I met a gal from Blue Bordeaux, she had blonde hair and blue eyes too,” he starts and the others join in the song. You can’t help but laugh at the heavily inappropriate song, drinking more.  


“That’s what ya call the ring dang do!” the men finish, roaring with laughter.  


“Yer a dirty man!” Arthur chuckles as you hand him the bottle. He takes a long drink as Dutch calls from his tent.  


“That’s all well and said, but how about something a bit more civilized?” He turns around and switches on his gramophone. Classical music sweeps over the camp. Arthur gets up to go and speak to John and Charles. You stand up, too, leaving your bottle behind. You don’t really want to drink anymore, despite the fire in your belly. You find yourself limping past Dutch’s tent and stop when you see the man dancing slowly with Ms. O’Shea. They laugh sweetly when Dutch twirls her around. You can’t help but smile.  


Arthur wanders past you, finishing a bottle of beer. You call his attention to Dutch and Molly.  


“They seem so sweet together,” you mumble, your head feeling a little misty. “Y’know, I never known how to dance.”  


He looks at you curiously. “Well, I ain’t much of a dancer neither, but ya wanna try?”  


You stare up into his eyes, unsure. “I don’t know, Arthur, with this leg…”  


“Ah, don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll help ya.”  


He offers you his hand. You toss your cane a few feet away and take it. You reach up and place your hand on his sturdy shoulder as his hand hesitantly slides onto your waist. He starts leading you around in a slow circle. The mixture of herbs and alcohol has greatly dulled the pain from your legs as well as your regular inhibitions, although you still limp. He takes his hand from your waist, bending you down backwards and pulling you back up, releasing a giggle from you.  


“Well, Mr. Morgan,” you laugh. “I never knew you could be so graceful!”  


He huffs. “Turns out I’m just full of surprises.”  


He leads you in a circle again, breaking it up every once in a while with a dip or a flourish. Your heart flutters every time, you can’t help but breathe in his scent and gaze into his blue eyes.  


The pain in your leg is starting to flare, making you long for the bottle of whisky, when Arthur grabs your hands and twirls you around delicately. He spins you back towards him and pulls you in close, enveloping you in his strong arms. You wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your head under his chin. The sound of his heart pumps fast in your ears. You feel your own beating a thousand miles a minute. His arms wrap tighter around you as he sways you back and forth, no longer circling. Despite all the efforts you’ve made to not let him know how you feel, you revel in the feeling of his skin against yours, the feeling of his cheek resting on your head. You never want this moment to stop as you close your eyes.  


The music suddenly ends, you hear Dutch compliment Molly. Arthur’s arms relax, releasing you. You have to adjust your leg quickly so you don’t stumble, taking your weight back and feeling somehow colder. His eyes are hidden beneath his hat, but he’s wearing a smile.  


“Sorry if that was a little too close for comfort, Y/N,” he sighs. “I just… been wantin’ to do that for a while now.”  


You giggle, unable to hide the blush crawling up your cheeks. “No, Arthur, that was… well, it was nice.”  


You stretch up as much as you can and kiss him on the cheek, turning away to watch Karen lead Sean into John’s tent.

Two weeks have gone by since Sean’s party. The ambience in the camp has shifted; it’s become lighter and happier. At night, the sounds of laughter often echo from the campfire. Your mood has greatly improved as well, now that you’re no longer restricted to Arthur’s tent. You’ve been moved back into your own for nearly a week after Grimshaw declared your leg is healed enough to withstand lying on the ground. You still have to walk around with the cane sometimes, but you can go for a period of time without it.  


You’re standing at the washbin, scrubbing at some dishes when you hear a familiar snort. You turn and see Arthur riding in. He smiles widely at you when he sees you, and you return it without hesitating. Ever since the night Sean came back and the two of you danced together, your friendship has blossomed. Of course, it has also deepened your feelings for him, although you’re still reluctant to mention or even show it. You’ve become conflicted by his behavior though. When the two of you are hidden from the eyes of the others in camp, Arthur will usually grab your hand or put his hand on your shoulder or back. Sometimes he’ll even pull you into a quick hug.  


He approaches you, rubbing his hands together.  


“There she is!” he says happily. You return his greeting.  


“How’s yer leg?” he asks, putting his hands on his gun belt. You turn your face back to the water, blushing. Nothing makes you want to wrap your arms around him more than when he stands like that.  


“‘S doin’ good!” you say, continuing to scrub. “I’ve hardly had to use my cane today.”  


“Well, good, I’m glad. Say, ya wanna go into town?”  


You look back at him. “God, I’d love to. So sick of seein’ this camp.”  


“Let’s go then,” he says turning away and going back to his horse. You begin to follow, limping a bit, but then stopping as he hops onto the saddle. “What’s wrong?”  
You hesitate. “I don’t know if I can ride a horse yet, Arthur, with my leg.”  


“We’ll go slow, darlin’,” he says, reaching his hand towards you. “Just let me know if it gets to be too much.”  


You grab his arm and he lifts you up behind him, not letting you go until you’re situated. Your thigh twinges a bit, but the pain is manageable. You nervously slither your arms around his abdomen. He turns Artemis down the trail, walking her slow. When he gets to the main trail, he turns to you.  


“How ya doin’?”  


“Good. You might be able to go faster, actually.”  


He kicks Artemis into a trot; she picks up the pace, swishing her long, black tail. He keeps her at that pace all the way into town.  


You almost admit that you’ve missed seeing the muddy town and its simple folk, but then you realize that even after six weeks, nothing can really improve this dump named Valentine. He slows Artemis to a walk as the two of you pass the train station and livestock yard. You see a large, white tent to the left up ahead.  


“What is that?” you ask, never really having paid attention to it before.  


“Think it’s one of them movin’ pictures I been hearin’ folk talk about,” he answers, pulling up to it.  


“I never seen one of them before,” you admit, taking one of your hands away from his waist.  


“Well, let’s change that,” you can hear by the tone of his voice he’s smiling. He stops Artemis outside the tent and swings his leg over her head, slipping off. He puts up his arms, helping you off. Your stumble a bit as your leg adjusts to the weight, but he doesn’t let go of you. Once you’re balanced, he offers you his arm and walks you up to a man standing behind a desk, offering tickets. He pays $2 for them and walks you inside.  


Inside, the tent has a projector pointed at the opposite wall, rows of seats filed under the projector’s beam. You pick two seats; there’s only a couple of other people in the tent. Just as the two of you sit down, the show starts as the electric lights dim. It consists of nothing more than some images with some type of moving element. A man narrates over the scenes, telling the tale about why the bear hibernates during winter. You’re fascinated; you’ve never seen an image move before.  


As you’re watching, Arthur lifts up his arm as he scratches the back of his neck. He then drapes it behind your head, resting his hand on your shoulder. You lean into him, feeling your cheeks grow hot. You’re glad the tent is dark so he can’t see.  


The show ends, the lanterns glowing again. Arthur removes his arm as the two of you stand. He smiles at you as he hides his eyes under his hat again. You take hold of his hand as you both walk out and back to Artemis. He lifts you back onto her then climbs up in front of you, carrying on to the middle of town.  


He hitches Artemis outside the saloon, helping you off. The two of you head inside and he buys you dinner, despite your comments that you can buy your own food.  


“Ya think ya might be up for a huntin’ trip soon?” he asks as you both eat.  


You pause, chewing. “I dunno, I hope so. Be nice to get out again for a few days. I just… don’t know if…”  


“I know, yer worried about yer leg. But ya seem to be doin’ good. I bet ya can handle it. ‘Sides, ya deserve to get out. Been cooped up in Horseshoe too long.”  


You smile at him. “Well, there’s that then. Only problem is I don’t have any weapons anymore. Those damn monsters took ‘em when they… after I got captured.”  


“Well,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gun smith is right ‘cross the road. Bet we could get ya another bow, maybe some guns.”  


“That’s a fine thought, Arthur,” you say, taking the last bite of your lamb. “‘Cept, I doubt I got enough money. And before ya say it, I don’t want ya spendin’ anymore money on me.”  


He laughs softly. “A’right, fine.”  


You nod your head, happy that’s settled. The two of you head out of the saloon.  


“Ya mind if I go get a bath? I haven’t had a proper one for far too long,” you say. He nods his head, saying he’ll go back into the saloon and order some drinks while you’re gone. You go and order a bath. Before you enter the water, you take off the bandage from around your thigh. Grimshaw showed you weeks ago how to change it, which must be done every couple of days. You go to a tall mirror in the corner of the room, turning around and twisting your neck so you can inspect the wound. It’s ugly, but at least the stitches are gone. You frown at the angry red line that marks where you were shot by the arrow. You tell yourself it could have been a lot nastier; at least the wound didn’t get infected.  


You sink down into the tub, sighing happily as you scrub the old sweat and dirt from your skin. You get up, dry yourself off, and redress your leg. You head outside, thanking the hotel clerk as you exit, and see Arthur standing next to Artemis, holding a Springfield rifle. You approach him, wondering what he’s up to, when he hands you the rifle.  


“What’s this?” you ask, taking hold of it. You realize it’s brand new. The metal’s carved with intricate, weaving patterns, and there’s an engraving of a wolf in the handle.  


“‘S for you,” he responds.  


“What? Arthur! I told ya not to buy me anything!”  


He guffaws. “”S too late now! ‘Sides, I wanted to. Also, got ya this.”  


He hands you a bow and a quiver of arrows. You blush, sighing deeply. You feel frustrated yet grateful. “Why are you doin’ this, Arthur? I coulda gotten these myself.”  


“I know. I just wanted to.” You sigh, defeated before leaning up and place a kiss on his cheek. You notice the red on his cheeks, but say nothing.  


He hops onto Artemis, offering to take your new weapons back to strap onto Artemis. You hand them to him, resigned and hop on behind him with his help. The two of you trot back to camp as the sun begins to descend. When Arthur hitches Artemis and dismounts, he speaks up.  


“So, tomorrow sound good for huntin’?” He helps you off again, not letting go of your hand.  


Smiling, you answer. “Of course. One question, though. I… obviously don’t have a horse anymore. How are we going to work around that?”  


“I’m shoar ya could borrow a horse from camp. Plenty a people here ain’t gonna be usin’ theirs for the next few days.”  


You shrug your shoulders. 

You’re lying in your tent, the singing of birds and the cool air gently waking you from your sleep. You hear someone walking towards your tent. Arthur’s deep voice calls your name. You sit up and peak out of your tent.  


The sky above his head is still dark but the horizon is fading into a soft, light blue, rivaling the color of Arthur’s eyes.  


“Ya ready to go?” he asks.  


“Now? This early?”  


“‘Course,” he smiles. “We can get more time in if we leave now.”  


You stand up, stretching and putting on your hat. You’re glad that you had approached Hosea the night before asking to take out one of the draft horses that usually pulls the wagons. He also offered you a spare saddle and bridle to take. You go groom a large dun Belgian Draft, strapping the saddle to her and fitting on the bridle. She stomps her foot, making you a bit nervous. You swallow, gather your courage and mount her, your leg only twinging a little. Arthur comes up, strapping on his satchel, smiling.  


“Got on yer own just fine, did ya?”  


You smile and nod, patting the mare’s neck.  


He hops onto Artemis and the two of you head down the trail at an easy trot. You’ve no idea where he’s leading you, but you follow him obediently, enjoying the sweeping views of New Hanover: the distant river, the wide canyon, the orange that is beginning to take over the sky. He leads you up into Valentine and passes the stables, trotting merrily down the faint trail which winds down the hill and towards the river. The two of you cross it, glancing at the sound of a man in a nightgown standing waist-deep in the river, screaming at some invisible being to get away.  


You both continue on until you reach an intersection in the trail, heading up the mountain. The temperature begins to drop slightly, and far up ahead on the mountain you see distant trees topped in snow.  


The trail levels out and you head down the left side, travelling along it until a pond comes into view. Arthur slows to a stop and you do as well, admiring the sight. The wide pond is beautiful, rippling calmly, its far banks flanked by deer and ducks. You spot the arching antlers of an elk in a nearby copse of small pines. On the other side of the pond, the land rises up into a tall mound, topped with a ram and multiple bighorn sheep, browsing among the trees. You look to the left, to the open grass sloping down the hills and towards the train tracks tucked into a gorge.  


“Arthur, this place is beautiful,” you say.  


He turns back to see you. “Found it right before we left Colter. This the place we tried robbin’ that Cornwall train. This is Cattail Pond.”  


You lead the dun mare to the water. She dips her head and drinks as you dismount, removing the bow and quiver. You adjust your gunbelt slightly, making sure the knife is still in place. You’re happy these things got saved, along with your sawed-off shotgun.  


Arthur pats Artemis, telling her to stay put. He approaches you, situating his own bow.  


“Now, if ya need anythin’, ya just call me.”  


You nod, the both of you wandering into separate directions to hunt.

By midafternoon, you approach the large mare, heaving an elk pelt onto her bag. She snorts as you strap it down, swishing her tail. You glance up the hill towards the main trail and you see silhouettes of horses, grazing. You pull out your binoculars and zoom in on them. You spot a pure black saddler, a palomino, and a dun Appaloosa stallion, his hindquarters heavily spotted. For some reason, you can’t take your eyes off him. You study him as he raises his head, snorts and then goes back to grazing. Arthur approaches you, a white ram pelt tucked under his arm.  


“What ya lookin’ at?”  


You point ahead at the stallion. “That horse. He’s real pretty. I always had a soft spot for Appys.”  


He pulls out his binoculars and looks with you. He lowers them and turns to you.  


“Well, go get it then.”  


“Huh?”  


“Go get it!” he says, gesturing to the horse. “Go get on his back and tame him. Bet ya won’t even have to try hard.”  


You look at him doubtfully. “Arthur, even with a good leg, I don’t think I could do that. No way I’m coordinated enough. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t even know the first thing.”  


“Ya even been bucked off before?”  


“Oh yeah. Rain’s mom bucked me once. Flew off and landed like a sack of potatoes.”  


He chuckles. “It really ain’t that hard sweetheart.” He goes on to explain how to break a mustang, to maintain your balance until the horse tires out.  


“C’mon, girl. How ‘bout I lasso him, ya get on his back. We’ll work together.”  


You hesitantly agree. Arthur pulls out his long rope, already knotted. He gestures for you to follow him, hunching slightly. The two of you sneak up the hill slowly, walking as quietly as possible. When you’re close enough, you call out to the stallion, Arthur stopping behind you.  


“Easy boy!” you call. “Easy.”  


His head launches up as he snorts heavily. He stomps his feet, his ears darting in every direction. You walk towards him slowly, your arms slightly raised.  


“Stay calm, boy. I just wanna make friends. You’re real pretty.”  


Surprisingly, the stallion doesn’t run but he continues to stomp, tail flicking. You get closer, almost within patting distance, when he rears up. You quickly take several steps back when Arthur’s lasso flies up and over his head, wrapping around his neck.  


“Now, Y/N!” he yells.  


You dash over and launch yourself onto his back. The stallion begins bucking and plunging, roaring in anger. You grab hard onto his mane, twisting and turning your body to maintain balance. He rears again, nearly throwing you. You clutch to his neck as Arthur yells at you to hang on. He slams back into the ground, you feel yourself start to slide over his side when Arthur catches you, pushing you back onto him.  


“There,” he says, breathing hard. “Think ya wore him out.”  


The stallion stomps his feet again, tossing his head. You straighten yourself up, patting his neck.  


“There,” you pant and pat his neck. “We’re friends now.” You reach into your satchel, offering him a treat.  


“That was real good, Y/N,” Arthur praises. He tells you to stay on his back as he leads the horse to the other two. For the next few hours, the two of you work together with the horse, getting him used to being touched. By the time the sun sets, you’ve managed to get the bridle and saddle from the Belgian onto him. You hitch him to the tree as Arthur sets up his tent, spreading out your bedrolls. You pat the horse fondly before turning and kneeling next to the fire.  


After cooking a few hunks of meat, the both of you decide to call it a night. Your thigh is sore and achy from the strains of taming the appaloosa. You limp over to the tent, sighing as you lie down. Arthur settles himself behind you. You twist your body so you’re lying on your back. You face him, your eyes already growing tired.  


“Night, Arthur,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You feel his hand takes yours as he bids you goodnight. 

It’s still dark when you wake, but you can tell by the songs of the birds that morning is near. Your leg hurts quite a bit, which is probably why you’re awake so early. You force yourself to get up, going to Arthur’s grill where the fire was, even though all that is left is a pile of smoldering coals. You reignite it with some nearby dried pine needles. You add some grounded herbs for the pain to a tin cup, adding some hot water from Arthur’s percolator to it. You drink it quickly, despite the awful taste. You add some coffee to the percolator, drinking that as well.  


Despite the early hour, you’re wide awake. You hoist yourself up, grunting a bit, and approach the appaloosa stallion still hitched to the tree. You feel a tightening in your gut when he grumbles a deep, happy snort at you, reaching for your outstretched hand with his muzzle. You offer him a treat, patting his neck. You admire the fine white hairs on the back half of his body, the smattering of brown spots. You suddenly feel inspired.  


You turn away and take a seat by a large log near the water of the pond. You pull out the journal from your satchel and turn to a blank page. You start to sketch the horse, trying to match the delicate lines of his neck, his slender legs, the long tail. You can see in your head how Arthur would have drawn it since he’s shown you a number of his own drawings. You stop and see your work, feeling unimpressed and dissatisfied. You sigh, disappointed.  


“How ya doin’ with that?” Arthur says, plopping himself next to you.  


You smile. “It’s crap.” You show him the sloppy lines. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh.  


“Let me help ya,” he says, putting an arm behind you. You flip to a new page and he takes your hand in his, guiding the pencil along the page. Every now and then, he’ll point to the horse, drawing your attention to certain details. He shows you techniques to bring out different textures and patterns. After only a few moments, the shape and details of the stallion begins to appear.  


The sun is well-risen now, illuminating his face, his scruffy beard turning gold. He’s so close you can see the scar of his chin once more, the specks of green in his blue eyes.  


“Thank you, Arthur,” you almost whisper. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you.”  


You can’t stand it anymore You don’t want to hide your feelings for him. So what if he doesn’t feel anything for you? All you want is to show the entire world how you feel about Arthur Morgan. You take your hand from his, reaching up and placing it on his cheek. You almost expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t. You glance briefly at his lips before you stretch up and place your own against them. You breathe in deeply, absorbing his scent as he stiffens to your touch. You pull away. Well, he knows what you think of him now.  


You open your eyes; his face is unreadable. You let your hand slip from his face, feeling a sinking in your chest. You fool, you think. Of course he wouldn’t want this, your kiss. You distance yourself more from him, looking down.  


“I… I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say. You snap your journal shut, sliding the pencil back into the leather strip quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”  


As you begin to stand up, his hand suddenly reaches and gently touches your neck, pulling you to him. His lips crash into yours as his other arm wraps around your shoulders. You reach up and loop your arms around his neck, memorizing his lips with your tongue. His hand leaves your cheek and knots into your hair.  


You pull away from him, panting heavily. He places his forehead against yours.  


“Ya’ve no idea how long I been wantin’ to do that, darlin’,” he mutters deeply. The sound of his voice sends shivers up your spine.  


“You don’t have to want anymore, Arthur Morgan,” you sigh. He leans in and kisses you again. You kiss him back hard, pressing yourself into him. His arms pull you into his broad chest. You kiss one another until you’re forced to pull back again by the need to breathe. He guides your head to settle onto his shoulder and you cuddle into him, your arms still wrapped around his neck.  


You both sit there, watching the sun climb higher into the sky. His hand traces patterns into your back as you brush your hands through his hair.  


After a while, he pats your back.  


“Ya ready to go hunt again, sweetheart?” he places a kiss on your forehead.  


“Mmm. Do we have to? It’s perfect here.”  


He laughs softly, the sound reverberating through you. “I know, darlin’. I don’t want this moment to end either. But camp’s gotta eat.”  


You sigh heavily. Arthur Morgan, the outlaw who would break his own back to make sure the people he cares about are taken care of. You reach up and place one more kiss to his lips before standing up. He follows your lead, grabbing his hat from the tent before wandering over to Artemis to remove his bow. You grab yours as well, scanning the environment for signs of animals.  


For the next few hours, the two of you go about, bringing down animals and butchering them. You aren’t as smooth with the bow as usual. You keep getting distracted by the memory of Arthur’s lips against yours.  


You stalk a whitetail buck near the train tracks. You hide in a clump of bushes and see him grazing. You notch an arrow and take aim for him. You let the arrow fly; it plunges into his side. The buck falls, but then stands up again, running off. You follow as quickly as you can, ignoring the pain in your leg. He falls again after a few yards, brought down by blood loss and shock. You approach him, trying to ignore his cries. You kneel down, pulling out your knife.  


“I’m sorry, my friend,” you say, knowing how painful it is to be struck by an arrow. You plunge the knife into his heart. You skin the carcass and start heading back up the hill towards the pond and the horses. By the time you reach the top of the rise, you’re panting heavily; your thigh burns. You sit down to give yourself a break. Arthur calls to you from across the pond in the trees. You can’t understand what he’s saying, but you wave your hand to show you heard him. He calls again, and again you wave.  


You start massaging your leg through your jeans, trying to soothe the pain. You hear splashing and look up. Arthur’s wading across the pond up to his calves, coming towards you. He calls to you again from the bottom of the hill.  


“Ya a’right?” he yells.  


“Yeah, leg’s just being a pain.”  


He climbs the hill, approaching you. He kneels next to you, looking hard at your leg.  


“I’m a’right,” you say. “Like I said, leg’s bein’ difficult.”  


He looks up into your eyes. He sighs heavily. “Maybe we oughta head back. Ya ain’t much use huntin’ if ya can’t walk.”  


“I can walk, just need a break, Arthur,” you say indignantly.  


“I know, darlin’. Ya have to remember yer still healin’. Do this for me?”  


You sigh, defeated. “Fine. Let’s just see if we can bring back something whole for camp.”  


He nods, helping you stand up. He takes the pelt from you then grabs your hand as you both wander over to the horses. He throws the pelt over the stallion.  


“Ya thought of a name for yer boah?”  


You bite your lip. “Yeah, maybe.”  


He looks at you, waiting for you to say. When you don’t, he speaks. “Well?”  


“Rannoch,” you finally say. “His name is Rannoch.”  


He raises his brows. “Rannoch, huh? Where’d ya get that?”  


You shuffle your feet. “My grandma used to read me a story. ‘Bout a stag named Rannoch, born the night his dad was born. I wish I could remember the name of the book. I’d love to read it again. Was my favorite.”  


“I like it,” he says, putting a finger under your chin, lifting your face. “Suits him.”  


You smile, glancing over to Rannoch. He flicks his tail, eating from a bush, completely uncaring about his name.  


“Well, let’s do a bit more huntin’,” he says. You agree and the two of you head back out, away from one another. After several moments of stalking, you bring down a bighorn sheep. You bend down to pick it up, but as you start standing your leg gives out.  


“Shit!” you yell as your knee slams into the ground, the carcass slumping back down. You feel your wound quickly, determining that it’s fine. Turns out your leg just isn’t strong enough to carry the extra weight. Arthur comes dashing out of the trees, attracted by your yell.  


“I’m fine,” you holler as you stand up, testing your leg. “Will you help me? I can’t carry this thing.”  


Arthur approaches, smiling mischievously as he lifts up the sheep onto his shoulder with ease. You follow him back to the horses, where he straps the sheep onto Rannoch.  


“I’ll be back,” he says, walking back into the trees. You brush Rannoch while he’s gone. After several moments, he returns, hauling the body of a doe. He straps it to Artemis. You both saddle up the horses and mount up. Arthur puts a lasso around the Belgian Draft, pulling her along behind him as the two of you leave Cattail and head back to camp.  


The sun has set when you both enter the trees to Horseshoe. Karen’s on guard duty, she calls to you.  


“Nice horse!”  


You thank her as the two of you go up the trail, approaching the hitching post. You dismount, then turn to Arthur. The two of you are standing between the horses, blocked from view of the camp.  


“Arthur?” He turns. “Thanks for takin’ me out and for… everything else.”  


He smiles, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Anythin’ for you, darlin’. Can I ask you a favor, though?”  


“‘Course.”  


“D’you mind if we keep this between us for now?” You pull away, surprised and even a little hurt. He must see your feelings on your face.  


“It ain’t that I’m ashamed,” he scrambles, pulling you close. “I just… want to keep this quiet for now. Besides, we both know how the others will talk. And maybe I like the idea of havin’ ya to myself for now”  


You chuckle, relaxing in his arms. “Yes, I do know. But promise me it won’t be long?”  


He smiles, pulling you into a tight hug. “I promise.” He leans down to kiss you, shielded from the others by the horses and the darkness.


	9. Surprise

Warnings: blood, murder, slight gore, fluff  
Word Count: ~9700

You walk through the streets of Valentine hand-in-hand with Arthur. You’ve been needing a break from camp and some much-needed alone time with the rugged outlaw for days. You didn’t want to come to Valentine. You’ve grown tired of the town, and had asked to go somewhere else. You suggested Big Valley after studying Arthur’s map. He insisted the two of you come here for a job first. Something to do with the doctor.  


The two of you walk up the steps. You hold the cane in your free hand, although you haven’t needed it for over a week. Arthur asked you to bring it and pretend like you’re badly injured. He stops you before entering the doctor’s office. “Ya ready for this?”  


“Yep!” you smile. “I know exactly what to do.”  


He nods, happy, and you enter the office, pretending to limp heavily. It isn’t hard since you’re familiar with the action, despite it being fake now. Arthur enters after you, still holding onto your hand. The doctor stands at the desk, examining some herbs. He looks at you over his spectacles.  


“Welcome. What can I do for ya today?”  


“I hurt my leg real bad a few days ago,” you say, taking on a breathy tone, leaning on your partner. “It’s real painful!”  


He walks around the desk to stand in front of you, asking you to point out the leg. You gesture to your left thigh where, hidden beneath your jeans, there’s little more than a dark red line.  


“C’mon into my examination room, I’ll take a look.”  


He leads you into his room, Arthur following. The doctor tries to stop him.  


“No visitors.”  


“Oh, but please doctor. He’s my husband, I begged him to come!” you say, making up the story. “I’d be mighty appreciative if you let him stay!”  


The doctor sighs and relinquishes, letting Arthur in. The outlaw glances at you, surprise on his face. You wink at him behind the doctor’s back. Arthur goes and leans on the wall between a window and a large metal door.  


The doctor turns back to you after having scrubbed his hands, ordering you to sit in a chair. You do as you’re told, making it look like a struggle. The doctor sits in another chair close to yours, bending down.  


“Show me where it hurts,” he says. You gesture to the back of your thigh. He begins poking and prodding your leg.  


“Well, I ain’t feelin’ nothin’, but best take a look. I’m gonna need you to take off your jeans.”  


He glances back at Arthur, whose arms are folded across his broad chest. You try not to laugh at the look on his face. You whip out the shotgun from your belt, pressing it against the doctor’s chest. He whips around, shock sprawling his face.  


“How ‘bout instead you show me what’s behind that door?” you say, looking at the metal door. He raises his hands. Arthur walks up behind him and yanks him to his feet.  


“Ya heard the lady,” he growls, his eyes sparking. “Open the door.”  


You stand up, still pointing the gun, as the man approaches the door and knocks. A slot in the door opens. Arthur and you quickly take several steps back in order to hide from whomever is looking through.  


“Ah, it’s only the doc,” comes a lilting Irish voice. “Must be a slow day again.”  


The door opens. Arthur stomps forward, grabbing the doctor and forcing him through the door, you following in his wake. He throws the man against the wall, knocking him out as you look around the room. Three men wearing green shirts and bandanas sit around a table, one of them with a saloon girl on his lap. They launch to their feet at the sight of you and Arthur, whipping out their revolvers. Arthur pulls out his volcanic pistol and shoots one of them. You hesitate for a second and then shoot one of the others. Cards flutter through the air from the men’s hands as the saloon girl runs to the back wall, screaming as Arthur shoots the last one.  


“Please don’t kill me!” she begs. You lower your gun and Arthur approaches the table, grabbing the stacks of bills. You see a painting on one wall, seeming odd in its placement. You start to walk towards it when you see movement from the corner of your eye. The saloon girl has yanked the pistol from one of the dead man’s hands, pointing it at Arthur. You’re faster, though, and your shotgun explodes, knocking her down.  


“Damn O’Driscolls,” Arthur grumbles, reholstering his half-drawn pistol and putting the bills into his satchel. “What the hell they doin’ here?”  


“Dunno,” you say, going back to the painting, holstering your shotgun. You lift it up and away from the wall, revealing a safe. “You got something to crack this open?” you ask.  


He comes and stands next to you. “Ah, these ones are easy. Watch and learn, sweetheart.”  


He kneels down, placing an ear close to the lock. He begins twisting and turning it, listening closely for the sound of it clicking. After a few moments, he swings it open, flashing you a proud grin as he stands up. You reach in and pull out more bills and some jewelry.  


“Mighty fine take,” you say, placing it in your own satchel. “Glad you twisted my arm to do this job.”  


“Me too.”  


The two of you leave quickly as the sound of yelling comes from the street. Someone’s heard your gunshots. Arthur grabs your hand and pulls you out a backdoor and into the back lot. You shut the door closed and the two of you dash away from the building, certain no one saw you leaving. You and Arthur run down behind the store, stopping to catch your breath as you lean against the wall. You and Arthur look at each other and break out into laughter. Once you both quiet down, your stomach drops as you realize something.  


“Arthur, I left my cane in the doctor’s office.”  


“Ya serious, Y/N?”  


“Shit, I’m sorry! I guess we could just leave it there. I don’t really need it anymore.” You feel bad doing so since Charles had made it for you. Arthur sighs in frustration.  


“Well, maybe we don’t have to. Follow my lead. Pretend to limp again, would ya?” He grabs your hand and walks down the muddy street with you. You fake the limp again, grabbing his arm with your free hand. Ahead, darting across the road and yelling to one another, is the sheriff and a couple of deputies. The two of you approach the doctor’s office, trying to look as innocent as possible. He leads you up the steps again when a deputy comes to the door, pistol unholstered.  


“What you two doin’ here?” he demands.  


“Oh, I’m real sorry, sir. My wife needed to see the doc earlier and she left her cane. Ya mind if we grab it?”  


He stares hard at the two of you for several seconds. “Wait here,” he finally says, disappearing into the office. He reappears, holding your cane.  


“There ya are, miss. Now I recommend the two of you stay away from here for the next few days.”  


“Why? What happened?” you ask, clutching the cane.  


The deputy hesitates. “Someone came in here and shot some folk only a few minutes ago. We’re lookin’ for ‘em now. Ya two see anything, let us know.”  


“Shoar thing, sir,” Arthur says, leisurely saluting him with two fingers. You both head down the street, feeling like you got too lucky. You approach Artemis and Rannoch, hitched outside the hotel. You slide your cane into Rannoch’s saddle. The sun’s setting, making it too dark to leave for a new location. Arthur suggests you both spend the night here, to which you agree. He pays for the room and a bath. You look at him curiously.  


“Just gonna take one quick, darlin’,” he says. “I’ll meet ya in the room.” He bends down and gives you a brief kiss before turning and walking down the hallway to the washroom. You head up the stairs and go into the room, which only has one bed. You’re not too worried about this, figuring it’ll be the same as sleeping in the tent he brings when you’re out on trips.  


You sit on the bed and write in your journal while you wait for him. After some time, he comes into the room, bringing along the heavy scent of soap, his hair still wet. He sits down next to you, taking off his boots. You look over at him, noticing the thick, hard muscles of his neck, disappearing under his shirt and coat.  


You reposition yourself so you’re kneeling down behind him. He stops taking off his boots, about to turn to you, when you place your hands on his shoulders and begin massaging him. He tenses up at first, but after a few seconds he begins to relax, groaning as you work out the hardness in his body.  


“You are very tense, Mr. Morgan,” you say in his ear. “I really need to do this more often for you.”  


He takes his hat off, tossing it onto a chair, and tilts his head back, sighing in pleasure. You squeeze his shoulders tighter, finding knots and working them out.  


After several moments, he grabs your hand and loops it so your arm is wrapped around him. He kisses your palm gently.  


“That’s real sweet of you, darlin’,” he rumbles. “No idea how good that felt.” You bend forward and place a kiss on his neck.  


You finish massaging him, patting his back and then get up to take off your own boots. When you turn back around to the bed, you find Arthur lying on his back, looking at you. His arm closest to you sticks out across the bed. You crawl into bed and squeeze yourself against his side, feeling his arm wrap around you. You lay your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. His hand on your arms rubs patterns into your skin while his other hand slides over your hand lying on his stomach. You begin drifting off to sleep when you feel him place a delicate kiss on your head. He mumbles something to you, but you don’t hear what he says as you become lost to the darkness.

You wake up, lying on your side facing the door. You shift your legs when your feet brush up against Arthur’s legs. You feel his arm squeeze around your waist gently and you realize he’s spooning you, his face buried in your hair. You relax again, smiling and closing your eyes again.  


After a short period of time, you feel him beginning to stir. He lifts up his head, realizing the position he has you in.  


“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles sleepily. He starts to withtract his arm when you grab hold of it, turning your face to his. You kiss him softly. “I could get used to that,” he says, smiling against your lips. You laugh, kissing him again.  


“How ‘bout I buy you breakfast and we go?” you whisper.  


He smiles again. “Yes, ma’am.”  


The two of you get up, put your boots back on and leave the hotel. His hand doesn’t leave your waist the entire time you walk over to the saloon. You order two bowls of oatmeal and the two of you sit down at a table and eat.  


Behind you, from another table near one of the windows, comes a sudden outburst of laughing. You turn in your chair and see three men sitting at it playing a game of poker. You turn back to Arthur, a glint in your eye.  


“Wanna go play, see if we can beat those fellers?”  


He leans over to see the table as well. “Y’know how to play?”  


“Think so. Grimshaw and I played a couple of games together when I was on bedrest. I’m actually getting pretty good.”  


Arthur half-smiles at you. “Why not?”  


The two of you stand and approach the table, placing down $2.50 each to play. One of the men, dressed like a farmer, looks up and glares at you.  


“This ain’t a woman’s game,” he spits.  


“Listen, mister,” Arthur warns, leaning down and planting his hands on the table. “I don’t ever remember readin’ a book about poker sayin’ a woman can’t play. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t be surprised if she could bust each one of ya out.”  


The man looks like he’s about to stand up when one of the others speaks up. “Relax, Walter. Don’t see why she can’t play. Sit down, I’ll deal ya both in.”  


You both take a seat, Arthur sits opposite Walter while the one on your right remains empty. The man who spoke last deals you your cards. You pick them up. Queen of spades, 3 of diamonds.  


The dealer starts laying down the cards, the betting raises up to $3.80. The other player who hasn’t spoken yet folds as the other two lay down their cards. You look at the table which shows the queen of clubs. The other cards, however, are useless to you. You lie them down but end up losing to Arthur, which you don’t mind. “Yes!” he laughs as he grabs the chips from the middle.  


A couple more rounds go by, you don’t win any of them. Walter snickers. “So much for her bustin’ each of us out,” he snides to Arthur. You look at the outlaw and see his eyes flicker angrily. You place a hand on his thigh under the table, trying to calm him.  


“Don’t test me, mister,” Arthur snarls.  


“Or what? Ya gonna shoot me?”  


“I might.”  


The man who hasn’t spoken yet finally opens his mouth. “Can we calm down, please? I’m here to play a few games, not listen to you two argue.”  


Arthur angrily shuffles and deals out the cards. Yours end up being two fours, a diamond and a heart. Arthur lies down the first card, an 8 of spades. Bidding goes up to $1.50. Then he lays down a 4 of spades. You try to keep your face smooth to hide your excitement. He lays down two more cards, the bidding passes $6.  


Walter chuckles. “All in,” he slides all his chips into the middle. The other two and Arthur fold; he curses. Walter smirks at you, lifting an eyebrow. You lift your head high, staring back.  


“All in.” You push your chips in as well, even though it’s a significant amount less than his bid. The total amount now though has been raised to $11.38.  


“Ooh, ya feelin’ confident now, girl?” he taunts.  


“Are you?” you shoot back. His grin flickers as the two of you lie down your cards. All he has is a 3 of hearts and an 8 of diamonds. You put down your two fours.  


“Goddamn it!” he smacks the table as Arthur lies down the last card, the King of Clubs. You laugh, grabbing the chips and sliding them over to you.  


“Well, hope you weren’t plannin’ on usin’ that money for anythin’ important,” Arthur taunts. Walter gets up without a word and stalks out of the saloon. You decide you’re done, too, telling Arthur so.  


The two of you leave, going over to your horses. You pat Rannoch affectionately. Sometimes you still feel physical pain when you remember Rain, but it hasn’t prevented you from forming a deep connection to the appaloosa stallion. He rumbles in his chest, greeting you.  


“Hey, sweetheart, I need to go back to camp for somethin’ real quick, then we can head out to Big Valley,” Arthur calls to you from Artemis’s back.  


You mount Rannoch. “Okay.”  


The two of you go back to Horseshoe Overlook. On the way there, you’re distracted by the sight of a small pool of blood by the trail. It leads up to the train tracks where they cross over a sharp dip in the land. Something lies in the puddle. A foot? You call Arthur’s attention to it.  


You both dismount, following the trail slowly until you come to the rail bridge. Strung up underneath it is the mutilated upper half of a man, blood still dripping. On one of the rock walls leading away from the bridge are the words scrawled in white paint “Look on my works”.  


“Jesus,” Arthur breathes out. He approaches the body, spotting the head nailed to one of the pillars. You, however, are frozen. You don’t see the corpse dangling from the bridge anymore. Instead, you’re being dragged along the ground, golden sunlight bathing you as you stare up into a shrine made of human corpses.  


You close your eyes, your breathing getting heavy. You turn away, trying not to see it anymore.  


“Arthur,” you gasp. “C-can we leave, please?”  


He’s holding a rolled up piece of paper, he looks up at you. His eyes grow worried as he walks up to you.  


“Everythin’ a’right?”  


“Yeah, I just can’t be here anymore.”  


He gently takes hold of your arm and leads you away. When you reach the main trail, he stops you and pulls you into a tight embrace.  


“Yer a’right, girl,” he says, his deep voice reverberating through you. “Ya don’t have to see it no more.” He rubs your back soothingly. After a few minutes, you pull away.  


“I’m okay,” you finally say. He pats your back and then mounts Artemis. You turn and hop onto Rannoch and continue on your way to camp.  


By the time you both get back, you’re mostly back to normal though slightly shaken. Arthur turns slightly, saying he’ll be back in a moment. He leaves to his tent when you see Abigail approach him. You groom Rannoch, trying to hear what they’re saying, but they’re too far away.  


After a few moments, Arthur returns but he heads over to Jack, who’s sitting in the grass digging a stick through the dirt.  


“Ya wanna go fishin’?” Arthur asks him.  


“Sure, Uncle Arthur!” he says, hopping up.  


“Well, good. Go grab yer pole. You do have a pole, don’t ya?”  


“Yeah! Uncle Hosea maked me one.”  


“Good! Now go grab it so we can catch ourselves some fish!”  


The boy laughs as he runs past you. Arthur comes up to you.  


“Abigail asked me to take him out for a bit. Ya wanna come fishin’ with us?”  


“Of course, Arthur.”  


You both mount your horses as you wait for Jack, who comes back holding a pole. Arthur stretches down, grabs it and hitches it his saddle. He then reaches down and grabs Jack, placing the small boy in front of him, holding him tight. Your heart warms at the sight of the tiny boy sitting in front of the burly, rugged outlaw as you both turn down the trail and head towards the river.  


Arthur walks slowly at first, not wanting to let Jack slip.  


“Go faster, Uncle Arthur!”  


He chuckles. “A’right, hold on there, Jack.” He kicks Artemis into a quick trot.  


“Faster, faster!”  


The horses pick up to an easy canter; you hear Jack ahead of you squeal, enjoying the ride. You can’t help but laugh.  


Arthur slows down next to the river, stopping at a muddy bank. He lifts Jack down as you pull up next to him. Together, the three of you find a spot near the river and bait your hooks. You haven’t been fishing since your first hunt with Arthur at Bison Point. You smile fondly at the memory, thinking how far you and he have come. You cast your line into the current and wait as Arthur instructs Jack on the techniques of fishing.  


Arthur casts out his line, close to yours. All is quiet as you listen to the birds in the trees, the ducks across the river. You watch a small herd of deer on the other side, drinking and grazing.  


“I remember teachin’ another boy to fish,” Arthur suddenly speaks up, his eyes far away.  


“Was it Lenny?” Jack asks.  


“No, it weren’t Lenny. Was before Lenny joined us. Even before ya were around. He was a good kid, though.”  


You want to ask him who he’s talking about, but a fish suddenly grabs your bait. You pull in a small bluegill.  


“Hey, look Jack,” Arthur calls, smiling at you. “A bluegill. It’s almost as small as you.”  


“I’m bored. Can I go pick some flowers?” the boy asks.  


“Shoar, Jack. Just don’t wander off too far.”  


For the next little while, you and Arthur continue to fish, catching several more bluegills and a couple of pickerels. Arthur calls to you, saying you ought to pack up and go. He reels in his line and approaches Jack, you following in his steps as you take your pole apart and stuff it into your satchel.  


“What’cha got there, Jack?”  


“A necklace for mama!”  


He kneels down to look closer at the wide ring of flowers he holds up.  


“Shoar.”  


“That’s a fine young man,” comes a voice from behind you. You whip around, seeing two men in fine city clothes walking slowly towards you. The one in the back is a small, stout man, a rifle leaning against his shoulder. The other, the one who spoke, is taller, leaner and has pock marks across his cheeks. Arthur stands up and faces the two men, Jack looks scared.  


“Arthur, isn’t it?” the man continues on. “Arthur Morgan?”  


“Who are you?” he demands, stepping in front of Jack. You walk behind the boy, placing your hands on his small shoulders in case you need to grab him quickly. You watch the men over Arthur’s shoulder.  


“Mr. Van der Linde’s most trusted associate, Arthur Morgan,” the man continues, stopping. He points to himself. “Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency. This is my partner, Agent Ross.”  


Ross glares at the three of you, his fingers flicking over the trigger of the rifle still leaning up on his shoulder. You try to look braver than you feel. With everything going on, you’ve forgotten all about the law chasing you from Blackwater.  


“We know a lot about you,” Milton adds.  


“Do ya now?” Arthur growls.  


“You’re a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. There’s five thousand dollars for your head alone.”  


“Five thousand dollars? For me?” he glances back to you briefly. “Can I turn myself in?”  


Milton glances at you. “Ah, Ms. Y/L/N. Yes, the sheriff of Blackwater mentioned we might find you. Unfortunate that you mixed in with this group of degenerates and murderers. I hope you’re happy to know you have a generous bounty of a thousand dollars.”  


“A thousand?” you speak up in a surprisingly steady voice. “Last I checked it was only five hundred.”  


Milton sniffs haughtily. “That was when you were still running on your own. Poor choice, if you ask me.”  


“You leave her out of this,” Arthur growls.  


Milton sneers, gazing back at Arthur. “We want Van der Linde.”  


“Dutch? We ain’t seen him in months.”  


“Really? Because we heard of a man sounded a lot like him robbed a train in Ambarino belonging to Leviticus Cornwall.”  


“Train robbin’? Ain’t that a little old fashioned now days?”  


“Apparently not. Listen,” Milton raises his hands, walking slowly towards the three of you. “I’m going to make you both an offer. Bring in Van der Linde and you won’t swing. You have my word.”  


“That’s all fine, Mr. Milton, ‘cept we ain’t gonna swing. See, we ain’t done nothin’ wrong ‘cept not play the game by your rules.”  


“Spare me the philosophy lesson, I already heard it from Mac Callander.”  


You’re shocked by the name. Mac hasn’t been seen since the morning of the river boat robbery that went so wrong. It seems Arthur’s taken by surprise as well.  


“Mac Callander?”  


“Yeah, he was pretty shot up by the time we got to him. In the end, it was really more of a mercy killing. Slow, but merciful.”  


Arthur lowers his head and you see him begin to shake. He suddenly throws his pole down, his anger exploding. Ross leaps, pointing his rifle at Arthur. You yank out your sawed-off and point it at Ross.  


“So ya enjoy bein’ a rich man’s toy, do ya?” Arthur roars.  


“I enjoy society, flaws and all,” Milton snarls. “You people venerate savagery and you will die savagely!”  


The two men are within inches of each other. “Oh, we’re all gonna die, agent.”  


“Some of us sooner than others!” Milton says. A few tense seconds pass before Milton turns away, stomping off to his horse.  


“Good day, Mr. Morgan. Ms. Y/L/N.”  


“Enjoy your fishing, kid,” Ross says in a gravelly voice. “While you still can!”  


You holster your shotgun as Arthur turns to face you and Jack. The boy looks up at him as the two men ride off.  


“Who are they?”  


“No one,” Arthur says, ruffling the kid’s hair. “No one to worry about.”  


You place a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” you ask quietly.  


“‘Course. Let’s get Jack back.” He walks away and picks up his fishing pole, collapsing it and putting it back into his satchel. The two of you mount your horses again, Arthur reaching down to lift up Jack once more.  


You both ride back at a steady canter, but Jack isn’t laughing anymore. When you approach the hitching posts, you spot Abigail sitting on the grass, knitting.  


“There you are!” she calls to Jack as Arthur lifts him down, handing him his pole. “How’d you three get on?”  


“We caught a fish!” Jack says. “And I made you this necklace.”  


“Well, if I ain’t just the luckiest!” She turns to you and Arthur. “Thank you both!”  


“We had a good time,” Arthur says, smiling as he loops his thumbs into his gunbelt. You fold your arms across your abdomen. Jack walks away, and Abigail approaches Arthur.  


“What’s wrong?”  


“Nothin’, we just met some folk. Look, I better go speak with Dutch.”  


Abigail nods and Arthur calls to Jack. “Hey! You did real fine, kid.” He pats you on the back and heads off to Dutch’s tent after saying you’ll both leave for Big Valley afterwards.  


You go and pack a few more cans of food from Pearson’s wagon, stocking up on your own provisions. You pack extras in case Arthur needs some as well.  


Arthur comes up behind you, touching your shoulder.  


“A’right, let’s go,” he says.  


You both mount your horses and go down the trail, galloping past Valentine. You cross a wooden bridge, glance to the right and spot a small ranch. The trail dips down slightly and then splits off left and right, the left going through a large covered bridge. Arthur turns and takes the left side, going into the bridge and then going down to the right, crossing a wide and shallow part of the river. The trail wanders back up into the foothills of the mountains.  


The two of you canter underneath the rail tracks and wander into a wide open space, tall trees climbing to meet the sky. Small wooden structures sit beneath them and men wander the area. A few carriages strapped to large draft horses haul long logs. You two slow down to a walk, passing the foreman’s shack. Above the door lies a sign that says 

“Appleseed Timber Co.”.  


Ahead of you near the trail comes a great crack and a voice yelling “Timber!” The air is suddenly filled with yelling. You and Arthur watch as a huge pine tips and falls, and you see a man stumble near it as it crashes to the ground. You hear him scream and know instantly the tree has injured him.  


You and Arthur charge forward on your horses towards him, other men rushing to his aid. Arthur swings off his horse and races to the downed tree. The foreman stands behind the crushed man and grabs his shoulders, whose leg is trapped, shouting at the other men to lift. Arthur bends down and helps raise it up. The tree rises and the foreman pulls the man out.  


You dismount Rannoch and pull out bandages from your saddlebag, rushing forward. The foreman briefly inspects the man’s crushed leg, announcing there’s nothing more that can be done and that he won’t pay him a full day’s work. You kneel down next to the man and quickly start wrapping his bleeding leg, ignoring his cries of pain. Arthur hands him some money and whisky as you tie him off.  


“That foreman’s a real bastard,” Arthur says.  


The man nods, clutching his knee. You look behind you and see two men bringing over an empty carriage, preparing to pick the man up to take him to a doctor. You take a step back with Arthur and go back to your horses.  


You both carry on down the trail, heading farther up the mountains and into a small town settled around a river. A large sign above the trail declares the town’s name is Strawberry. You silently acknowledge that the town has a charming look to it. Arthur treats you to the saloon, buying you lunch before you both continue on down the path.  


After half an hour, you come onto a deep lake. You recognize it vaguely, fairly sure you and the gang had passed it when you fled Blackwater. Arthur stops, looking out at the water.  


“You wanna stop here a bit?”  


You smile and nod. Arthur leads you down the path a little more, walking Artemis to an outcrop of rock by the trail. You stop Rannoch near the large horse, hopping off and going to stand next to Arthur. He faces the water, his eyes full of his thoughts. You grab his shoulder, turning his body and pulling yourself into him, wrapping your arms around him, resting your head onto his shoulder. His arms enfold you; he sighs loudly.  


“This place is beautiful, Arthur.”  


He kisses the top of your head. “It’s called Owanjila. I found it a few weeks ago, been wantin’ to bring ya here.”  


You stare out at the water, watching as a huge bird drifts over the lake and then barrels towards the water, stretching its long legs and plucking a fish from it. You watch the eagle climb back into the sky, heading towards the thick forest on the other side.  


“Hmm, I could stay here forever,” you say, rubbing Arthur’s back. His arms squeeze tighter around you. You look up at him and he kisses you on the lips gently.  


“Me too,” he says.

You wander down the trail at a steady trot, leaving Owanjila behind. Arthur leads you up into the forest, which you recognize from the flight to Colter. The forest looks exactly the same, although the river is wider and faster. Not a surprise with how much snow still packs the mountains far off to the north.  


The two of you trot along the path, frightening a small pack of wild hogs. They squeal loudly as they disappear into the brush. Arthur leads you on further north up the trail, until the forest thins and gives way to a huge meadow, cut in half by a winding river, the grass dotted with patches of wildflowers. You recognize this, too. It would be impossible to forget a place like this.  


Arthur stops Artemis, turning around to look at you. “What you say we hunt here a few days?”  


“Sounds like a plan to me,” you smile.  


Arthur grins and then suddenly kicks Artemis into a gallop, racing ahead of you. You ram your calves into Rannoch’s side, pushing him. You and the outlaw run through the meadow, racing one another. You pass the large ranch on the northern side of the meadow. Several pronghorns graze ahead of you, but they dash off as the horses thunder towards them. You kick Rannoch again, pushing him faster. Not only did Arthur have a decent head start, but Artemis is much larger than Rannoch. Despite that, the stallion ends up matching the warhorse’s pace.  


The land begins to slope downwards and you see train tracks held up on a long, low bridge. Just before reaching it, Arthur stops, patting his horse’s sweaty neck. You reach it as well, pulling Rannoch to a halt. You breathe hard.  


“Thanks for warning me!” you shout, grinning.  


“Can’t make it too easy for ya, darlin’.”  


You both stand for a few moments, allowing the horses to catch their breath, feeding them treats. You look behind you at the sweeping meadow, flanked by the tall forest.  


“This place is incredible,” you say. “I don’t think I could ever get used to this.”  


Arthur chuckles, “Shoar.”  


The next few hours, you and Arthur hunt along the meadow, which offers plentiful and easy pickings of deer, pronghorn, even a few coyotes. It’s also rich in wild herbs and soon your satchel is stuffed with wild carrots and burdock roots.  


You stand in the meadow, grabbing some ginseng and yanking it out of the ground. As you break the root from the stem, you look up and notice the main trail ahead of you, cutting between the trees. On it, you see a smaller trail leading off of it. You wonder where it leads to. You call Rannoch to you, mounting him quickly and then running up to it.  


The trail crawls up the foothill of a mountain, but the forest grows so thick you can’t see where it leads. You walk slowly up it, listening closely to Rannoch. He seems calm, so you don’t feel worried.  


The trail gets steeper and then suddenly flattens, ending at a tiny cabin that looks like it might fall apart any minute. You wonder if it’s abandoned until you see the chicken coop beside it, full of the lively birds. A fat donkey stands beside it, grazing lazily. You dismount Rannoch and walk up to the cabin.  


You’re no stranger to exploring old cabins like this. When you were on your own, you’d occasionally run into one and would loot it. On previous hunting trips with Arthur, you and he would also explore old houses and huts. This one should be no different. You doubt anyone is home anyways.  


You push the door open and look into the small room, finding an old woman with a sour face and a bonnett sitting in a rocking chair by the fireplace. She looks up at you with milky eyes.  


“‘Bout time,” she snarls. “They said you’d be through here two days ago.”  


“Sorry?” you say.  


“Just leave it in the cellar and be on your way. My gut’s givin’ me hell and I ain’t in a sociable mood.”  


You walk calmly across the room into her bedroom, turn to the right and see a pantry with a ladder leading to a basement. You climb down it, seeing nothing but some empty, dusty shelves and a dusty gun case. You open it as you hear the old crone bark, “‘Ey! What’s takin’ so long?” Inside you find a semi-automatic shotgun. It looks as though it’s been down here for years. You pull out some gun oil and clean it quickly while the old woman yells again. You sling it over your shoulder and climb back up the ladder.  


You stand in the old woman’s bedroom, eyeballing a chest next to her bed and her wardrobe. You whistle loudly, wondering if she even remembers you’re here. She doesn’t respond; you think she might be hard of hearing. You quietly tiptoe across the room and open her furniture, finding several items of expensive jewelry, a pack of cigarettes, and a coin purse with $10. You pocket them and go into the front room.  


The woman doesn’t acknowledge that she knows you’re there, so you decide to push your luck and go next to a cabinet, opening it and grabbing a can of corn.  


“Now that’s the worst mistake you could ever make!” she yells at you.  


You turn and stare at her before going back to raiding her cabinet. You feel no guilt in taking her food, oddly enough.  


“You think you can rob from me?” she yowls. “I’m gonna give you some advice: get outta here, run far, far away!”  


You ignore her, going to her table and taking a slice of cheese. You hear her pick something up. You look at her just as she throws an empty can at you, her aim wildly off. You grin wickedly at her before turning back to her table, finding a few bills.  


“That’s it, I’m gonna get my sons! You’ll be sorry ya ever came here when they find ya!”  


She stands up, badly hunched at the shoulders and waddles to the front door. You follow her out, several steps behind her. She struggles onto the back of the fat donkey next to the chicken coop, spurring it into the forest as she yells profanities at you. You smile to yourself as you climb onto Rannoch, heading back down the trail and out on the meadow again, spotting Arthur in the distance taking down a stag with an arrow.

For the next few days, you and Arthur stay around the large meadow, hunting and gathering. One of the days, a bittercold storm rolls in and it pours, but other than that the weather is clear and beautiful. At one point, Arthur had stumbled upon a tiny, one room cabin with a grizzly bear inside. He ended up able to kill it without injury, aside from a scrape he got on his arm when he tripped down the stairs. You hadn’t been there to see it, but you were glad Arthur was confident enough to tell you about it. You both had also followed the river up north to where it seemed to be flowing from, stumbling upon another old woman’s yard guarded by three vicious dogs. You and Arthur ended up having to kill them and the woman when she started shooting and set the dogs on you. After raiding her cabin, Arthur found a torn treasure map and stuffed it in his satchel.  


It’s been four days since you arrived in the valley, and Arthur suggests that it’s time to head on back to camp. He tells you he needs to get with John and come up with a plan of action to rob the train going down to Saint Denise. You can tell by his face he isn’t too excited about it. You may have only been with the gang for nearly three months, but you know something is up between him and John. While you both walk down the trail heading back to camp, loaded with pelts and game, you decide to ask him.  


“Arthur, what is it with you and John?”  


“Why you ask?”  


“Just curious.”  


“Ah, it’s complicated,” he shrugs his shoulders.  


“Hosea said he’s been with the gang nearly as long as you,” you prod. “Said you two were like brothers once. What happened?”  


Arthur sighs and you think he’s going to remain silent when he finally speaks up. “When Abigail got pregnant with Jack, she told John it was his. He didn’t wanna believe it, of course. We all knew it was true. When Jack was born, Hosea and Dutch tried helpin’ him be a good pa to the boy, but John just didn’t seem to care. He and Abigail fought so often I thought that was all they did. He took off soon after; we didn’t see him for a year. Guess I ain’t really ever forgiven him for that.”  


“He must have been scared,” you say.  


“It don’t matter what ya feel!” Arthur snaps. “When ya got a kid, ya do everythin’ ya can to be a good parent, to make shoar they’re safe and happy. ‘Sides, no one else would’ve been accepted back that easily when he returned.”  


You aren’t too sure why Arthur seems so upset about John’s relationship to Jack, and you aren’t sure you want to keep digging. Arthur carries on.  


“John’s at least accepted the fact that Jack is his, even if he don’t like it. Still refuses to step up and be a damn father though. Been especially hard on Abigail, poor woman.”  


“It’s too bad,” you say. “Jack’s a good kid.”  


“We was family, y’know,” Arthur continues. “He and I used to go out drinkin’, robbin’ people sometimes. He was like a little brother to me. I just thought it meant somethin’ to him, too. Didn’t stop him leavin’ though.”  


You fall silent, trying to imagine what it must have been like for John. You find it difficult to understand his feelings other than he was scared.  


You look ahead and see a bridge up ahead and realize you aren’t far from Valentine. Across the bridge, there’s a covered wagon, stopped. Three men on the ground aim their pistols at the driver, holding his hands up. You pull out the shotgun you took from the old woman and push Rannoch into a run, charging towards the men. You hear Artemis pounding after you.  


Without thinking, you hold up the shotgun and aim it at one of them, pulling Rannoch to a stop.  


“Drop your guns! Now!” you yell.  


The man you’re aiming at looks at you, measuring you up.  


“Get lost, woman,” he shifts his pistol to you. An explosion rips through the air, making you jump. Arthur had pulled out his own shotgun and shot the man. The other two begin shooting at him and you while the wagon driver cowers in his seat. The robbers are too slow, and they both fall off their horses, dead. Arthur tilts his shotgun up so it points to the blue sky.  


“Thanks, mister,” the wagon driver says. “You too, ma’am. If it weren’t for you both, I’d be dead, I reckon.”  


“Ain’t a problem, sir,” you say. “Just be more careful when travelling.”  


You and Arthur walk your horses on and out of the driver’s way.  


“Damn O’Driscolls,” Arthur mutters.  


You look back at the bodies of the men. “Those were O’Driscolls?”  


“Course. Seems like they’re all over down here. They were in that ranch up in Big Valley. Ya didn’t notice?”  


“I noticed people were there, but didn’t think on who they were.”  


“Yeah, well at least there’s three less of ‘em now.”  


You continue on, going through Valentine again and passing the trail where the mutilated corpse was. You nervously glance up at the tracks and are relieved when you find it gone.  


Arthur leads you into camp with your bountiful haul, helping you carry the pelts and game to Pearson’s wagon. He thanks you both profusely.  
Grimshaw appears seemingly out of nowhere.  


“It’s about time ya both came back!” she squawks, putting her hands on her hips. “Ms. Y/L/N, we really coulda used yer help!”  


“I was out hunting with Arthur.”  


She straightens up. “Well, that’s all fair and said, but I need you to go help the girls! Go on!”  


She gestures wildly at you until you walk off to go find Mary-Beth and the other two. You chuckle to yourself as you sit down on a crate by the girls’ wagons. None of the others are around, you assume they’re off doing other chores. You pick up a needle and some canvas and begin knitting.  


A few moments pass; you hum quietly. Someone sits down on the crate next to you. Glancing up, you see Sadie Adler. This is a surprise, as you’ve hardly seen the poor widow since Dutch brought her back that first night in Colter. You smile at her, not really knowing what to say.  


“You been out with that Arthur Morgan a lot,” she says.  


“Sure,” you say.  


The two of you sit in a slightly awkward silence. You still feel massively inferior to her. Since arriving in Horseshoe, Sadie has kept mostly to herself. You often saw her sitting on a log on the outskirts of camp, crying. Sometimes Abigail or Karen would sit and talk with her. You briefly recall the day when you were still on bedrest and Sadie had grabbed someone’s gun and tried to shoot herself, Karen wrestling her to the ground. Every so often, she would go and threaten Kieran, the O’Driscoll. You had been highly suspicious of the man yourself until Arthur told you about the incident at Six Point Cabin, and how Kieran saved his life. You could understand why Sadie didn’t like him, though. You hope she doesn’t know about your own sins. You’re barely worthy of sitting in her presence.  


“They say you killed your parents, your husband,” she says in a rough voice. You look up, feeling nervous.  


“They ain’t wrong,” you admit, avoiding her eyes.  


She sighs heavily.  


“I’m real sorry, Mrs. Adler. For everything. What those boys did to you, your husband. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”  


She doesn’t smile, but you see a fire in her eyes. ““Ya don’t need to be sorry for me. Ya don’t know me, ya didn’t know him.”  


“I know. But still, I’m… I’m real sorry. To lose someone you care about like that.”  


“Why you kill your husband then?”  


“I had to. Either it was him or me. I don’t know how Mr. Adler was with you, but my husband was a miserable bastard. I didn’t choose to marry him, my father forced me on him. I ain’t sorry for killing him, I’d do it again if I could.”  


“Well, then I ain’t gonna say sorry for him bein’ dead.”  


You smile for a moment. “Look, if there’s anythin’ I can do for you, Mrs. Adler, I…”  


She cuts you off. “Ya don’t need to worry about me, Y/N. I’d be dead now if it weren’t for Dutch and Arthur. Everyone here has given me more than I could ask for in my situation.”  


Over the next hour, you and Sadie continue to talk. You find out she was married to her husband, Jake, for five years. He had lived in Valentine a long while before he met her, and he left it to live with her in her family’s old cabin. From how she described him, he was more than a good man, and she was happy.

The sun sets as you stand at Pearson’s wagon, finishing helping him with the stew. You throw the last ingredients into his pot and he dismisses you. You go wash up when you feel someone tap on your shoulder. You turn and find Arthur. He’s finally returned from getting some supplies for the big train heist John and Mary-Beth have been digging into.  


“Ya done yet?” he asks.  


“Finally, yes. I almost thought Grimshaw was never gonna let me take a break.”  


He huffs. “Yeah, she can be pretty diligent. Well, come sit down at the fire with me.”  


You walk by his side to the fire, resisting the urge to hold his hand. Despite the fact that you first kissed him nearly two weeks ago, and even act like a normal couple outside of camp, he still has not wanted to show you’re together in camp. Not that you mind, really. You’ve been leaving often enough with him to not be so bothered about it. Still, it would be nice to do something as simple as hold his hand in camp.  


You plop down on the log, he sits beside you. Lenny, Hosea and Uncle sit around the fire, greeting you both. Lenny starts telling the story about how his father had been a slave. He said he was educated enough to teach his master’s children, even though this meant he wasn’t liked by either the whites or the other slaves. He goes onto say how, when he was freed, his master gave his father a beautiful silver watch.  


“My father gave me that watch,” he says in a distant voice. “And now I done gone and lost it runnin’ from Blackwater. When I have the money, I’m gonna buy another one just like it.”  


Everyone remains silent for a moment before Arthur speaks up. “If I find one while I’m out, I’ll bring it to ya.”  


“Thank you, Arthur,” Lenny says.  


Uncle starts singing a song. You hear the name Molly in the tune. Arthur and the others start singing, you just sit and smile since you don’t know the words yourself. You glance over at the outlaw sitting next to you. He’s taken off his hat for a moment, and you notice a crunched leaf in his hair. Without thinking, you reach up and run your fingers through it, picking the bits out. He stiffens at your touch, but he says nothing. When you lower your hands, he suddenly leans over and whispers in your ear.  


“Can I talk to ya in private? Now?”  


He gets up and starts wandering over to the cliff of Horseshoe Overlook, which faces the wide canyon beyond. You get up and follow him, wondering if he might be upset about something.  


You enter the cover of the trees when Arthur grabs you around the waist, pushing you against a tree. Before you have a chance to speak, his lips are against yours. You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.  


“Yer gonna be the death o’ me, Y/N,” he growls against your lips.  


You smile. “You're the one who wants to hide this.”  


He kisses you harder, entangling one of his hands into your hair, his other hand grabbing your back, pulling you closer. You feel his tongue on your lips and meet it with yours. You breathe in his intoxicating scent. You can never get enough of it.  


“Uncle Arthur?” Jack says, making you both jump and break apart. You stare down at the little boy, red in the face. He looks up at the two of you, curiosity etched over his face.  


“Oh, hey Jack,” Arthur says, blushing furiously. “Uh, what did ya need?”  


“What are you and Y/N doing?”  


“We, uh, we’re just talking about somethin’. It’s real borin’, don’t think ya’d be interested.”  


The boy pauses for a moment. “Is she gonna be my aunt?”  


You suddenly cough, choking on your own spit, caught completely off guard by the question. Arthur thumps you on the back, laughing nervously.  


“No, no, Jack! Like I said, she and I, we were just…” he stops, searching for words. “Listen, I tell ya what, son. How about ya don’t tell anyone what ya saw us doin’? Let’s keep this between us for now, okay?”  


“How come?”  


Arthur smiles, kneeling down next to the boy. “Just do this for me now, Jack? Please? I’ll explain it to ya later.”  


“Okay, Uncle Arthur,” he says, skipping off.  


You run your hands through your hair, utterly embarrassed. Arthur stands up, putting a hand on your upper arm. You look up at him, your face still deep red.  


“Well, that was disappointin’,” Arthur chuckles. You laugh too, still nervous. He leans down and places a quick kiss on your lips before grabbing your hand. “We might have to try this again, Y/N,” he says, smiling. “Hopefully, Jack won’t come callin’ next time.”  


“I definitely agree with you, Arthur.”  


He leads you out of the trees, dropping your hand as you come into view of the camp. You both sit down by the fire again, joining in the songs Uncle has going around.

You leave your tent, stretching in the early sun. You look over to Arthur’s wagon. He’s sitting on his cot, writing in his journal. You wander over, greeting him warmly, secretly wishing you could sit next to him. You don’t dare do it. You walk off, approaching the fire Pearson puts the stew over, pouring yourself a cup of coffee.  


Abigail walks up to you, a strange smile etched on her face. You greet her, taking a sip of your drink.  


“So,” she says, her grin widening. “You and Arthur, huh?”  


Your stomach tightens. You decide to pretend not to know what she’s talking about. “Me and Arthur what?”  


“Together?” she laughs.  


Crap. How did she find out?  


“Jack told me last night. Guess he saw you and Arthur having a… moment.”  


“Seriously?” you try not to laugh. “He said he wouldn’t tell anyone!”  


She laughs again. “Guess I don’t fit in that category. It’s fine, though. Everyone already knows.”  


“How?”  


She rolls her eyes. “Please, Y/N. We all see the way you two look at each other, the way you two hide just outside of camp. ‘Sides, who else does Arthur take out on hunting trips that often?”  


“And here we were thinkin’ we were bein’ so sneaky.”  


Arthur walks over to the fire, sliding his journal into his satchel. “Ladies,” he says.  


You try to tell him, but Abigail beats you to it. “So Arthur, how long you two been seein’ each other?”  


“What?” he asks.  


You speak up over Abigail. “Jack told her what he saw us doing last night. Apparently, everyone does not include his mom.”  


She laughs again at the blush that appears on his cheeks.  


Mary-Beth and Tilly walk over to the fire. You can tell by their faces and the way they glance between you and Arthur that they already know. Abigail must have told them. You decide to not give them the satisfaction of calling you out. You pour out your coffee, toss the tin cup, and march over to Arthur. You grab his shoulders, pulling him down and kissing him. Before he has the chance to pull away, you let him back up, ignoring the fact that your face probably looks sunburned. You look at the other three girls defiantly, daring them to say anything. Arthur runs a hand through his hair, clearly shocked.  


“It’s ‘bout time you two quit tryin’ to hide it,” Tilly smirks.  


“I think it’s cute,” Mary-Beth says. “Like somethin’ from a story!”  


You blush harder, Arthur grabs hold of your hand.  


“A’right, fine ladies,” he says. “Yes, we’re seein’ each other. We were tryin’ to keep it quiet until things calm down and we ain’t gotta worry about Pinkertons. But since Jack decided to let the cat outta the bag, ain’t no point hidin’ it no more.”  


He grabs you and kisses you hard in front of the others, ignoring their laughs and whistles.  


Jack skips over as you both break apart.  


“Hey, Jack,” you say. “Nice way to tell your mama what ya saw last night.” You’re not angry with him, not even annoyed. You actually feel grateful that he did catch you last night. You’ve been tired of hiding.  


He smiles up at you and Arthur, still holding your hand as the girls start going back to their routines. “I wanted to tell mama.”  


You reach over and ruffle his hair, chuckling. 

You’re walking through Big Valley, bathed in sunlight. You hold up your hands to your waist, letting your fingers brush against the tall, swaying grass. You distinctly hear the river run by your side. Everything is calm.  


You suddenly stumble over a rock, landing on your stomach. You turn over onto your back. The meadow is gone, the sunlight streaming through the thick branches of tall oaks. In front of you lies the wide mouth of a cavern. Standing between you and it is the horrible shrine made of mutilated humans. The hands sticking out of the side begin to writhe, clawing towards you. You stand up and start running, the sunlight turning to blood.  


A great pain takes hold of your leg, throwing you down. A man wearing nothing but overalls comes running towards you, hair wild, teeth missing. He reloads a shotgun, pointing it at you and the forest around you explodes.  


You force your eyes open. You’re lying in your tent in Horseshoe Overlook. The sky outside is pitch black, and you can hear rain showering down. You glance outside. The trees are suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning, a great boom follows only a second after it. You sit up, wrapping yourself tighter in your blanket. You can’t stop shivering as you try to rid the horrible images from your head. Your leg stings slightly, almost like it too is remembering the awful events that happened in Roanoke. You’re covered in sweat, and yet you’re chilled to the bone.  


You put on your hat and stick your head out of your tent. The camp is completely still and dark, the fires put out by the torrential downpour. No one seems to be moving around. You look over at Arthur’s tent only a few feet away from yours. He’s sleeping on his back in his cot, barely covered by his own blanket.  


Another flash of lightning sends you back into your tent, the thunder rumbles in the ground beneath you. You shrug off your blanket and get out of your tent, quickly jogging over to Arthur’s tent.  


You stand inside, feeling nervous. His tent is considerably dryer than yours. You glance at him.  


“Arthur,” you whisper. He doesn’t respond. You call his name a little louder.  


Lightning flickers above, followed almost immediately by a huge crash of thunder. Arthur shoots up into a sitting position, hand wrapping around his pistol. He sees you standing in front of him, hunched over nervously.  


“Shit, Y/N,” he says, rubbing his hand over his face and putting his pistol away. “Scared me near to death!”  


“Sorry, Arthur. Didn’t mean to. I think my tent’s about to flood.”  


He lays back down, flinging the blanket off of him. He sprawls out his arm closest to you. Taking his cue, you crawl into his cot, snuggling close to him. He covers you in his blanket as you lay against his chest, closing your eyes. Another boom of thunder rips through the air, you cover your exposed ear with your hand. Arthur starts running his fingers through your hair, sighing deeply. The feeling of his hands on your back and the sound of his heart beating lull you into a dreamless sleep.


	10. Memories

Warnings: swearing, murder, mentions of rape  
Word count: ~12,000

You wake up in the morning, still cuddled tightly against Arthur’s side. The storm has passed, giving way to a watery sun. The air is chilly from last night’s heavy rain. You’re stiff from not having moved most of the night, but you’re not uncomfortable. You adjust your hand slightly, and Arthur’s starts rubbing your back up and down. You look up and find him staring at you.  


“Mm, sorry Arthur, didn’t mean to keep you pinned down.”  


“”S a’right, darlin,” he says.  


You sit up, stretching out your arms. He leans up next to you, putting his hat back on.  


“Thanks for lettin’ me stay here last night,” you say. “Thunderstorm kept me up.”  


“Anytime, darlin’.”  


Hosea saunters past the tent, lighting his pipe. He spots the two of you sitting on Arthur’s cot and smiles slyly. You take that as your queue to get up. You pat Arthur’s hand and stand up, going back to your tent only to find that it has indeed flooded. You pull out your soaked bedroll and fold it up, wringing it out.  


Arthur walks over to you, puffing on a cigarette. He watches you wring out the roll for a moment.  


“Ya sure ya don’t wanna just stay in my tent?” he asks, looking at you with a soft expression.  


“That’s okay, Arthur. I don’t wanna impose on you.”  


“Ain’t imposin’, sweetheart,” he flings the cigarette away. “‘Sides, you were half frozen last night.”  


You shrug your shoulders. “It did get pretty cold.”  


“C’mon, darlin’, it ain’t gonna be a problem to share my tent.”  


You look up at him. You’re tempted by the offer, but at the same time you feel reluctant. You haven’t shared a bed nightly with a man since you were married, and that was with a man you despised.  


“Maybe, Arthur,” you finally say, unfolded the bedroll. “I really don’t wanna impose on you and your cot ain’t that big.”  


He smiles at you, getting the hint. “A’right, darlin’. Just know you’re welcome to it whenever ya want.”

Over the next two days, the secret is completely out about you and Arthur. The two of you have to endure the taunts and jokes from some of the gang members. Mostly from Sean, John, Uncle and Lenny. Some of the others are more supportive, like Hosea, Mary-Beth, Karen, Grimshaw and surprisingly Sadie.  


“Thought you two were never gonna admit you like each other,” John laughs, approaching you while you scrub Pearson’s table one morning. You look up and laugh with him.  


“Yeah, well, it’s out now.”  


“So ol’ man Artie Morgan?” Sean joins the two of you. “Now I know why ya always go off wit’ him to town and trips! He’s such a downer! Can’t quite see what ya see in him, especially when I’m ‘round!”  


You laugh, despite yourself. You glance over at Arthur, chopping wood, glad he can’t hear Sean. You know he has little self-esteem; he wouldn’t appreciate the way Sean’s talking, even if it is for fun.  


“Well, keep the flirting low,” John says after pouring himself a cup of coffee, Sean strutting away with him. You shake your head, smiling.  


Pearson walks over to you, rubbing his hands together. You see an odd gleam in his eye, he almost looks mischievous.  


“Oh, Ms. Y/L/N, could you go into town and get these things at the store for me? Arthur said he’ll drive the wagon.”  


He hands you a shopping list scrawled on a piece of paper. You read it, nodding.  


“‘Course, Pearson. We can go now.”  


You drop the rag onto the table, folding the paper and tucking it into your pocket, heading over to Arthur. He finishes chopping his last piece of wood, turning to you. He puts down the axe. “Ready to go, darlin’?”  


“Yep,” you smile, grabbing his hand. Hosea, over at the fire, gives you a smug grin, which you ignore.  


You and Arthur hook up two large draft horses to a wagon and get into it, Arthur flicking the reins. You head into Valentine, Arthur stops by the store and hops out.  


“I need to go to the gunsmith, pick up a few things. Almost ready to pull that train robbery with John,” he says, heading down the street.  


You wave at him, walking into the store and pulling out your list. You approach the desk clerk, handing him the paper. He snaps his fingers at a teenage boy, who begins grabbing the items and putting them into boxes for you. While you wait, you look through a catalog on the desk, glancing through the section on shirts. You glance down at your own clothes, noticing how worn and faded they are.  


You read through the catalog, spotting a shirt you like. You ask the clerk about it, and he reaches into a box behind the desk, pulling it out. You see dark blue material with silver buttons. He hands it to you and you slide it on over your own shirt, liking the way it fits. It reminds you of the necklace Arthur had given you, the one you still wear around your neck. You pull out your money and buy it, along with a new pair of dark jeans. You follow the teenager out the door, both of you hauling a box loaded with supplies. Arthur strolls towards you as you slide the box into the wagon.  


“Nice shirt,” he says. You look down, realizing you hadn’t taken the new shirt off yet.  


“Oh, yeah, figured I could use some new clothes.”  


“Looks good on you.”  


You both climb into the wagon, he grabs your hand after turning the horses around and setting off down the road back to Horseshoe. He pulls the wagon to a stop, jumping out. You help him haul the boxes over to Pearson and then turn to go to your tent to change. You pass Dutch’s tent and find that your tent and bedroll are gone. The grass it was set on is flattened and browning. You turn your head left and right, looking for your things.  


“What the hell?” you mutter to yourself.  


Karen walks over to you, laughing. “Looking for your things?”  


“Yeah. D’you know what…”  


“We moved ‘em, figured you wouldn’t need ‘em anymore.”  


“What are you talking about?”  


“Why are you still layin’ in your own tent, girl?” she laughs. “We figured you might as well share Arthur’s tent, probably more comfortable anyways.”  


You look behind her at his wagon. It hasn’t changed a bit, but then again you hardly had anything in your own tent. You sigh heavily.  


“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur asks, standing next to you.  


“Karen says we should be sharing a tent.”  


“Well, why not?” Dutch walks over, grinning wide and smoking a cigar. “Might as well conserve space ‘round here. Since you two are together, why shouldn’t you be sharing a tent?”  


Arthur grins at you. You almost wonder if he put them up to this.  


“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Dutch laughs, slapping a hand on your shoulder. “Not like you haven’t spent a night in his cot before.”  


Arthur laughs. You do too, despite yourself, finally relaxing. “Well, guess your right.”  


Karen and Dutch walk away, both looking rather pleased with themselves. You wander into Arthur’s tent, or your tent now. You glance around, noticing it hasn’t changed at all since you were trapped here after that mess with the Murphrees. Three pictures still tacked to the wagon, the photo of his mother on the table. Even the photo of Mary is still standing, as much as you don’t like it. You decide to say nothing on it, despite the tightness in your gut. Arthur stands behind you and puts a hand on your shoulder.  


“Well, guess we’re gonna have to get used to squeezin’ close to each other. This cot ain’t that big.”  


You look at the bed, which is really only big enough for one person, and Arthur’s huge. You turn around to face him, shrugging your shoulders. “I guess I won’t mind too much.”

It’s night, and you sit by the fire with Uncle, Bill, John and Arthur. You tip up the bottle of whisky in your hand, drinking from it. You hand it over to Arthur and lean over, resting your head on his shoulder as Bill starts talking about how he met Dutch. Arthur’s arm wraps behind you, pulling you closer.  


You look up into the sky, admiring the stars. Arthur puts down the bottle. You yawn widely, trying to hide it with your hand.  


“Ya gettin’ tired,” Arthur whispers in your ear. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”  


Without complaint, you stand up and walk towards your shared tent. You sit down and take off your boots, Arthur following suit. You lay down, curling as close as you can to the side of the wagon, nose centimeters from the wood. Arthur lays down behind you, draping an arm over you as he buries his face into your hair. After a few moments, he whispers to you.  


“This is nice. Spent way too many nights alone in this bed.”  


You slide your hand over his on your stomach, squeezing it. “I bet. Well, ya don’t have to do that anymore, Arthur Morgan.”  


You aren’t sure why you were so nervous about sharing a cot and tent with Arthur. Yes, your husband was an awful man and made your life a living hell. Arthur wasn’t that way, though. You wish that you could abandon all those fears you’ve gained from living with your husband, to be able to have a clean and healthy start with Arthur. You fall asleep to the dark thought that maybe Arthur would be better off with someone else; someone who isn’t as broken as you.  


You wake up due to the howling wind in the morning. You feel Arthur packed against your back still. You look over your shoulder and see he’s sitting up, scratching away in his journal.  


“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you.  


You give a feeble smile, still feeling down. You sit up next to him as he closes his journal.  


“What’s wrong?” he asks.  


“Nothing,” you lie, pulling your hair away from your face.  


He looks at you, but you avoid his gaze. “C’mon, sweetheart. Ya know ya can tell me anything.”  


“I promise, Arthur. It’s nothing. Maybe I just need to get out of here again.”  


He huffs a small laugh. “I know. I been thinkin’ the same thing. Well, what ya say we go on another trip?”  


You look at him finally, forcing a smile on your face. You lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek before crawling over him and out of the cot. You walk over to the fire, pouring yourself two cups of coffee, returning to the shared tent and handing one to Arthur, who is putting his boots back on. Arthur takes the cup from you, thanking you before leaving, saying he needs to go speak with John quickly about the train job.  


Hosea walks over as you’re strapping your boots onto your feet. He leans against the pole holding the canvas above your heads. He smiles at you.  


“Well, I’m glad you and Arthur are together,” he says with a strange look. You glance up at him.  


“Me too.”  


“You’ve been good for him, Y/N. When he was with Mary, I must admit he wasn’t too likable.”  


“What makes you say that?”  


Hosea shakes his head slightly. “That girl had him runnin’ ‘round doin’ all sorts of things for her. She constantly kept sayin’ she loved him, then she couldn’t be with him. He was so tired all the time. Didn’t wanna help me or Dutch; took some of his frustration out on John. Nothin’ too bad of course. When he was 19, Mary finally disappeared and he didn’t talk about her again after that. Not that Dutch or I asked. When she wrote him that letter a few weeks ago, I was worried he’d go runnin’ off to her, which as you know he did. I’m just glad he hasn’t gone runnin’ around for her again. Like I said, you been good for him.”  


You sigh, not sure you really believe Hosea. You have a hard time believing anyone would have a better life because of you. Of course, you haven’t noticed the way Arthur acts now that you’re relationship isn’t a secret. The way he almost skips across camp, how he’s more likely to smile at strangers. Even when he is out on his own, he’s more likely to greet people and help them out. All you can hear is your ex-husband’s voice in your head. No one could live with you and not end up hating you.  


You stand up, pat Hosea on the shoulder, and walk away towards Arthur. You find him leaving the tree John’s leaning against.  


“Ya ready to go?” he asks.  


“Yeah. Where you thinkin’ of this time?”  


“Maybe a place called Cotorra Springs? Ya know it?”  


You shake your head.  


“Good. Yer in for a treat, darlin’.”  


He leads you over to the horses. You pat Rannoch gently on his neck after brushing and saddling him. Arthur looks at you from atop Artemis.  


“Ya shoar yer okay, honey? Ya don’t look like ya feel good.”  


You wave him off. “I’m fine, Arthur. Just tired is all.”  


He looks like he’s about to say something, but then shrugs his shoulders. You mount Rannoch and follow him. 

You travel for several hours up north, through the Cumberland Forest, past a military fort and an old train station overlooking a huge gorge with a deep, fast river in its bottom. To the right of the path lies tall, craggly hills. Arthur stops you at the train station, which sits next to a long wooden bridge.  


“Let’s cross the bridge, be quicker.”  


You look at the bridge hanging over the steep gorge. You’ve never been a big fan of heights. You nod your head nervously, leading Rannoch to follow Artemis. Arthur walks the giant horse across the bridge, allowing her to carefully place her hooves on the rail ties and not get caught. Rannoch twitches his head, slightly agitated by this new obstacle. 

You urge him gently onward.  


The horses manage to cross the bridge easily. A second, smaller one lies ahead only about 500 feet away from where the large one ends. The two of you cross it easily; you’re grateful a train hasn’t come along.  


After crossing the smaller bridge, Arthur turns to the right and back onto grass, the land sloping up. You follow him, noticing that the land flattens out above you before it arches up into steep mountains. Tall, bare trees dot the flat area, and you see steam billowing out of the ground. Arthur waits for you, and you stop Rannoch at the top of the hill.  


What you had taken for flat land is actually small pools of water and a couple of geysers. The pools, encircled with bright yellows and deep oranges, glow blue as they belch sulphurous steam into the air. One of the geysers erupts, spewing water high into the air. Rannoch startles slightly at the explosion; you pat him until he calms down.  


Arthur looks over to you. “Well, what ya think?”  


“It’s beautiful, Arthur,” you say. Your spirits have greatly lifted at being away from camp and into the forest. You’re convinced this is the best kind of medicine, being out in the wilderness, surrounded by trees and mountains. Arthur’s presence only improves your mood.  


“Now, we gotta be careful while we’re here,” Arthur says, dismounting from Artemis and pulling out his bow.  


“Why?” you ask as you mimic him.  


“I’ve heard rumors that there’s a pack o’ wolves lives up here. Wouldn’t be surprised, neither.”  


“I never dealt with a wolf before, Arthur,” you say, feeling worried.  


“Ah, don’t worry, sweetheart. If ya find yerself around ‘em, use a gun. Don’t worry ‘bout ruinin’ the pelts if they’re comin’ after ya. Now, ya still got them poison arrows?”  


You check your quiver, looking for the arrows Charles had crafted for you using Oleander sage. You nod to Arthur, replacing the quiver on your back.  


Arthur goes off into the forest to hunt. You, on the other hand, want to explore the area more, particularly the water. You wander slowly towards a large pool, its water looking like melted sapphyre. The grass disappears, replaced with pale dirt. The earth becomes lighter the closer it gets to the pool, turning yellow. Veins of dark oranges and muted reds spread from the pool, almost like an infection. You walk closer to it, entranced by the steaming water.  


You’re 10 yards from the water when you feel the ground beneath you shift, almost like it’s too soft to hold your weight. You step back, lean down and hover your hand inches above it. You can feel the heat rising from it. You figure that underneath the soil must be tons of hot water, feeding the pools and geysers. You decide not to get to close to either of them, not wanting to fall and get boiled.  


You turn away from the pools, facing towards the forest. You walk over to them, scanning for signs of prey. 

You stay in the area of Cotorra Springs for two days, hunting elk and ram. At one point, you had accidentally startled a lone wolf, but you had shot a poisoned arrow at him just as he lunged towards you. Arthur was quite proud of you, saying the pelt was in excellent condition despite you shooting so quickly.  


On the morning of the third day since you’ve arrived, Arthur says he needs to head back to camp. Tonight is the night of the big train robbery he and John have been planning. You both pack up and leave.  


Just as you finish crossing the railroad bridge back to the station and enter Cumberland Forest, you see a woman standing alone ahead on the trail.  


“Hey, you there!” she calls to the pair of you. “Think you could help a lady out?”  


Arthur pulls Artemis to a stop next to her.  


“What’s wrong, ma’am?” he asks.  


“My horse up and died on me. Think you could give me a ride home?”  


“Shoar. Where you live?” he asks, helping her climb onto Artemis’s back.  


“Emerald Ranch. It ain’t too far.”  


Arthur looks back at you, giving you a quick wink before he pushes Artemis into an easy canter. You follow close behind on Rannoch, listening to the woman as she tells the story of her horse who died, how it had bitten the ear off some wild mountain man who threatened her. While she speaks, you pass the corpse of a pinto horse. Arthur offers his condolences to her, stating how hard it is to lose a horse. You silently agree, thinking about Rain.  


You follow the trail south, and the mountains and forests give way to a wide open plain, flowing beneath a sea of bright green grass. You see ahead the roofs of buildings. You pass a train station, which has a sign reading “Emerald Ranch” on it, and just a short ways off lies the town itself. You’re not really sure it could be called a town since there’s only about 5 buildings, most of them being barns or stables.  


The woman asks Arthur to stop outside a long cabin, it’s roof made of peat and dirt. She hands him something as she gets off, thanking him. She waves at you, thanking you as well for going out of your way to help. You nod at her, waving back.  


Arthur turns to you. “A’right, let’s head on back.”  


You agree and he leads you out of the ranch towards the huge column-like mountains in the distance. As you gallop over the plain, you look to the right and see a wetland.  


“Arthur, let’s go over there real quick!”  


He looks to where your hand is pointing. You spot on one of the banks of the shallow pond a man holding something in front of him.  


“Is that…?” Arthur begins to ask, guiding Artemis over to him.  


He hops off his horse, you following in his steps, over to the man.  


“So you’re still alive,” he greets the man with a smile.  


The man jumps and you see he was looking into a camera on a stand. You’ve only seen one in your entire life when you were younger at a carnival.  


“Mr. Morgan!” the man says in a refined accent, clearly from a city.  


“How are you?”  


“Indigestible, apparently,” the man chuckles. “Other than that, very well.”  


“How’s the project goin’?”  


“This is God’s country, and I am his faithful servant. Although perhaps not his most talented one. I have been trying to capture the grace of some wild horses for weeks. Only the buggers can’t stand me.” The man points to a ledge across the water. Arthur pulls out his binoculars and looks.  


“That,” he says, pointing to one of them. “Is a silver dapple pinto!”  


“I know, they’re beautiful. Won’t come anywhere near me though. He can smell my stupidity.” The man turns and sees you. He has a kind face hidden beneath a thin-rimmed hat and beard. “Ah, may I ask who this lovely young woman is?”  


Arthur turns, putting his binoculars away and placing a hand behind your back. “This is Y/F/N Y/L/N. Y/N, this is Albert Mason. He’s a… what did ya say you was again?”  


“A wildlife photographer,” Albert says. “And not a very good one, I’m afraid.”  


“I didn’t know wildlife photography was a thing,” you say, taking a small step forward in the soggy ground.  


“Ah, yes. I am discovering why it is not the most sought-after profession.”  


“How ‘bout this?” you say, pointing to the mustangs on the bank. “Why don’t Arthur and I go and run them over here for ya? Bet you can get a decent picture that way?”  


“Ah, you must be an angel, ma’am, accompanied by this saint!” he grins, gesturing at Arthur.  
Arthur laughs. “Shoar, a’right.”  


You both mount your horses, dashing off towards the mustangs. They flee farther from the water at the sight of you, but you give them a wide berth and manage to get in front of them, running them back towards Albert. Just as the silver pinto Arthur had pointed out reaches the water, followed by the rest of the herd, you and Arthur veer off to the right, behind Albert so he can take a photo. You hear him yell and holler in delight as you dismount.  


“You are absolute geniuses!” he declares as you and Arthur approach him again.  


“Maybe not me,” Arthur chuckles. “But I can ride a horse.”  


“Well, in my world, that makes you a genius.”  


You suppress a smile.  


“You’re too kind,” Arthur says. “How are the photos comin’ along?”  


“Oh, amazing. Here, I have a print of the wolves before they tried to eat us.”  


Albert hands him a print of three or four wolves underneath the tall cover of pine trees.  


“Well, that’s real fine. Take care, Mr. Mason,” Arthur says, sliding the photo into his satchel and mounting Artemis.  


“Thank you, thank you both!” Albert calls.  


When you’ve travelled far enough away from Albert, he stops and turns to you.  


“Hey, darlin’, I need to go meet John not too far from here. Ya a’right goin’ back to camp alone?”  


“‘Course not. Be careful!”  


He smiles at you. “I will be. Here, take these with ya.” He dismounts and takes the pelts from Artemis and puts them on Rannoch’s hindquarters. “You get back safe, ya hear?” He mounts Artemis and nudges her into a walk, heading away from you after he salutes you with two fingers.  


You push Rannoch into an easy canter, dashing across the plains of the Heartlands, passing the tall cliffs and back into the forest that tucks Horseshoe Overlook away from the prying eyes of those travelling along the trails.  


It’s early afternoon by the time you hitch Rannoch to a post, dismounting and going over to Pearson with your load of pelts and game.  


After eating, you head on over to the main campfire, determined to stay awake as long as you can until Arthur returns with John and Charles. 

Somebody shakes you awake gently by the shoulder. You look up, still sat by the campfire. The sky’s turning a soft grayish-blue, announcing the dawn. Arthur stares at you.  


“What ya doin’ over here, honey?” he whispers, sitting down next to you.  


“I was waiting for you,” you yawn. He puts an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. You lean against his chest, stifling a yawn again.  


“Ya didn’t have to wait for me, darlin’,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Ya could’ve gone to bed.”  


“Wanted to make sure you got back safe.”  


“Well, I’m back and I’m safe.”  


“How’d it go? Did you just get back?”  


“Yeah. Sean joined us, even though John told him not to. That boy don’t listen to nobody.”  


You laugh.  


“It went a’right, though. Law showed up. They were real quick, too. Almost wonder if it was a setup.”  


“The law showed up?” you ask, opening your eyes, pulling away from him.  


“Yeah, but we all got away from ‘em just fine. Lost ‘em past the train tracks. Don’t worry, honey. Just a bunch o’ locals from Valentine, I think.”  


“Good. At least it wasn’t the Pinkertons,” you say, leaning into him again.  


“Nah, we’d have a real problem if it was.”  


Several moments pass in silence before Arthur pats your back. “I’m gonna get some sleep, darlin’. Ya comin’?”  


“Of course,” you smile, standing up with him. You both lay down in Arthur’s cot, wrapped in each other’s embrace. 

That afternoon, Arthur approaches you with a plate of stew by the campfire. You take it, thanking him.  


“I was thinkin’...” he says, sitting next to you. “Of goin’ to Valentine. Get some drinks or somethin’.”  


“What for? To celebrate?” you ask.  


“Shoar, why not? Score last night was good.”  


“Shouldn’t you be takin’ Charles, Sean and John? They were the ones who helped you.”  


He smiles. “Nah. I feel like takin’ you out.”  


You agree, finishing your stew. You mount Rannoch, trotting next to Artemis and head to town. You follow Arthur into the saloon where he orders you both a shot of whisky. You both drink several of them, getting progressively more drunk. By the time the sun has set, you’re standing on the poker table yelling at the cards in your hand, convinced they should be shuffling themselves. Arthur’s standing next to the pianist in the corner, egging him on. He sees you and starts laughing, stumbling towards you.  


“Arthur!” you yell, slurring his name. “This stupid deck won’t pull out another king!”  


He laughs at you; you take a step towards him and fall off the table. He helps pick you up from the ground, unhurt. He pulls you close to him, smiling. Before you can say anything, he leans down and kisses you. You kiss him back, but someone wolf whistles at the two of you.  


You turn your head, seeing a man by the barber’s chair grinning at the pair of you.  


“Let’s get outta here,” Arthur mumbles into your ear. You turn and nod at him; the pair of you stumbling over each other. Arthur leads you over to the hotel; you’re still too drunk to really do anything else.  


He slams a dollar on the desk, wrapping an arm around your waist. He guides you up the stairs, slamming you into the wall when you reach the second floor, pressing his lips against yours. You kiss him back, folding your arms behind his neck. He walks you backwards to the door of the room, closing the door behind him. He kisses you harder, his arms sliding up your back and to your front. The backs of your legs crash into the bed, you fall backwards, pulling Arthur on top of you. The two of you don’t break apart as Arthur’s hands start unbuttoning your shirt. You feel him pressing himself into you, pinning you to the bed. His hands grab your wrists, pinning them above your head. His fingers slide over your throat.  


Without warning, your heart begins to race. Your palms begin to sweat, and your body begins to shake. It’s not Arthur on top of you anymore, and you’re not in a hotel. Through your blurred vision, you see him. James Brackenridge. Your ex-husband before you killed him. He’s pushing you into the bed, forcing himself on you, overpowering you. You feel terror flare in your chest. All you know is that you have to get him off of you. You start thrashing, smacking him in the face.  


“What the hell, Y/N?” James yells, straightening up and away from you. You blink your eyes, your vision clearing slightly. Arthur stands where James was, rubbing his slightly red face. “What was that for?”  


You realize suddenly that James was never here. He couldn’t be. However, the terror of feeling him forcing himself on you still roars inside of you. Your breathing is hard and fast; you try to slow it down with no success.  


“Arthur, I…” you start. He looks at you confused; you can’t stand it anymore. The room’s shrinking, spinning. You have to get out of here.  


You launch to your feet and run to the door. You yank it open, running into the hallway, ignoring Arthur’s calls to you. You turn to the right, throwing the door open and out onto the deck of the hotel. You breathe out hard, finally able to calm down slightly and close the few buttons Arthur had managed to undo. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, the panic attack subsiding enough for you to gather your thoughts.  


You run down the stairs onto the grass by the hotel and dart to the front, hopping onto Rannoch’s back. You’re still a little drunk from the shots of whisky, but you turn Rannoch and dash off down the trail that passes the stables and into the forest, ignoring the loud shouts of Arthur calling your name.

You arrive at Cattail Pond, the only place you could think of coming to this late at night. You slow Rannoch down to a halt by the water, hopping off and collapsing into the dirt. You’re sure Arthur hasn’t followed you, leaving you completely alone in the wilderness.  


You lie in the dirt and try to recall the last ten minutes leading to your fit. You know Arthur had never meant to hurt you or force himself on you. He had been caught in the moment, drunk and amorous, but he couldn’t have known you’d panic. You realize it’s your own fault really, not having ever told him about your past.  


You’re still drunk and exhausted now because of your attack, so you find it impossible to stand up and unpack your tent and bedroll. You just let yourself fall asleep on the earth, blanketed in starlight.  


You wake up stiff, cold and with a pounding headache after the sun has risen, a light mist hovering among the trees. You stand up, somewhat shaky, and then immediately buckle over, vomiting. You straighten up. Your head still hurts, but at least you’re sure what alcohol hasn’t made it into your bloodstream is now out of your system.  


You walk over to the pond, bending down and cupping some water into your hands, sipping it. You stay there for a moment, recalling last night and why you feel so horrible, remembering it wasn’t just because you drank too much. You can’t believe you ran away from Arthur, not even giving him a reason why.  


You lie back down in the dirt, wishing the headache and dryness of your mouth would just disappear. The sun’s in the middle of the sky by the time you finally gather enough energy to mount Rannoch and head back to camp. You travel at a walk, dreading what’ll happen when you get there.  


When you reach Valentine, you look briefly down the main street, looking for Artemis. She isn’t there, of course. You’d be surprised if she was. You wander slowly back to camp, feeling your stomach clench painfully when you hitch Rannoch next to Arthur’s giant horse. You climb off your appaloosa, still feeling a bit wobbly. You turn and spot Arthur sitting in his cot, staring at you. You can’t read his expression, but you’re certain he’s angry with you.  


You try to gather the courage to head over to him and tell him about last night, but you find yourself wandering into the trees, feeling miserable. You sit at the feet of a large oak tree, folding your knees up to your chest.  


“Y/N,” you hear him gently call you. You lift your head from your knees, not bothering to wipe the tears from your cheeks. He stands to your side, looking sad and concerned.  


“Arthur,” you say silently. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”  


“Nah, ya ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he says, sitting next to you. He smiles. “‘S that why you been gone so long? Ya felt bad about last night?”  


You wipe one of your eyes. “I thought you’d be mad. I would’ve been if I were you.”  


He puts his arm around your shoulder. “Nah, honey, I ain’t mad. Worried more than anythin’ else. I tried lookin’ for ya last night.”  


“I’m sorry, Arthur.”  


“What happened, anyways? One minute, we were havin’ a good time. After ya hit me, which by the way ya got me good,” he laughs softly, touching his cheek. You can’t help but smile. He looks at you seriously again. “Ya looked like ya thought I was gonna kill you. Why?”  


You stay silent for a moment. You’ve been putting this off for far too long, holding in your dark secrets, hiding them from the world. Arthur has been so patient and gentle with you; he deserves to know. You decide to tell him everything.

*************************************************************************************************************

You lived in the house your whole life, that tiny three room cabin, with your parents south of Blackwater in the lowest corner of West Elizabeth. The cabin sat on a decent plot of land, large enough for a small garden, a barn and pasture. The view was the only thing you ever liked about your home. To the west, you could see the plains stretching for miles, to the north were great sweeping mountains. The east and south faced Flat Iron lake, connecting with the wide San Luis river, winding its way west and above Mexico.  


Your father worked in Blackwater as a shop owner. Most men like him would live above their shop, but this cabin had belonged to your family for generations. Your mother stayed home, doing chores and caring for you, teaching you all the skills you would need to know as an adult.  


From afar, your family life was nothing unusual, pleasant even. Behind closed doors, however, it was anything except for that. Your father was a tyrant with extremely set ideas about how things should be, particularly in regards to the roles of men and women in society. To him, the man should not only be the head of the family and breadwinner, but the master of it. Whatever he said must be matched. He’d ruled over you and your mother this way for as long as you could remember.  


Your mother, although sweet and patient when your father wasn’t around, had no courage to speak of whatsoever, and was highly limited in skill herself. The only thing she could offer you in ways of knowledge was how to clean, cook, garden and look after the few livestock your family owned. She could not read or write, in fact she could hardly even ride a horse.  


When you were fairly young and had no idea how to decide what you wanted for yourself, that lifestyle suited you. Some days, your father would take you into town to help him run the shop, but only as long as you were dressed to your best. You hated running the shop with him, it was an extremely boring job, and you weren’t allowed to touch or play with anything. You remember you had once snuck a piece of candy off the shelf and eaten it. Your father had struck you across the face hard, yelling and screaming.  


Every couple of weeks, your grandma would show up, riding on a small cherry-bay arabian. You loved whenever she came to visit; she always brought something for you. A new toy, a photograph, candy, and sometimes even a book, despite the fact that you couldn’t read. She would sit in the main room with you and your mother and read from the book for you. If your father was around, he’d voice how much he disapproved, but your grandmother would always send him off and tell him to be useful and make her a cup of tea.  


When you were nearly ten, your grandma started to visit less and less. Your mother said it was due to her failing health. You knew it was a lie, though. You’d heard the arguments your parents would have with her when they thought you weren’t around. Your grandma had been begging your father to enroll you in school; to let you learn to read, write, do math, learn science. Your father was adamant that you would not go to school to become some over-educated ninny and think of ideas above your station. When she began to push the issue further, your father told her to stop coming around.  


After that, your grandmother would only come around to pick you up and take you to her house in the northern slopes of Tall Trees, claiming she was going to teach you how to care for horses. “Who knows?” she used to say. “Perhaps she’ll marry a horse rancher!” This was the only way she could convince your father to let you see her. She did teach you horse care, but she also tried teaching you how to read and write. She was forced to stop though when your father discovered your practice sheets in your room. He had beaten you severely that day, furious that his own mother had gone behind his back and done it. It was only with the promise that she would stop the lessons that you were still allowed to visit her.  


When you were eleven, you had gone to visit your grandmother when she pulled you into her stable to show you her large black American Standardbred mare named Ruby. She had you feel the mare’s swollen belly. When you asked why, she whispered in your ear that Ruby was pregnant and she wanted you to help take care of the foal. Five months later, Rain was born during the night.  


After that, you came to visit your grandmother each day to help her take care of the horses, especially Rain. When the foal was a yearling, she taught you how to bridle and saddle her and then to ride. You’d never ridden a horse on your own before that, but you loved the feeling of freedom, of rider and horse becoming one. You and Rain became inseparable after that. Your grandmother used to say that Rain was poured down just for you.  


Two years after that, your grandmother died of yellow fever. You were heartbroken, feeling like you had lost your only friend and protector. Your father took you and your mother in a wagon to her cabin, gathered everything up, including her horses and took them off to be sold. When you realized this included Rain, you begged and pleaded with him not to sell her, offering anything in return. He finally relinquished, but he demanded that if you slipped up for even a day in caring for her and the other horses, he would send her away.  


After your grandmother died and you were allowed to keep Rain, you would saddle her up each day and go off on your own, wandering Great Plains and even venturing a bit into New Austin. Your mother hated this, stating she needed your help around the house, but you didn’t care. You hated living in the house with no one but your parents to keep you company, having nothing to listen to but your father’s gossip he’d collected from around town and your mother’s mindless babble. You had to get away from them, their land. Most days you’d be gone for a matter of hours, always back by dinner, but one time you had gotten terribly lost during a dust storm and had been out for three days. Your father put his foot down on your adventures then, throwing out the usual threat of selling Rain.  


Your mother had a better idea to keep you rooted to your home, realizing you were lonely and bored. She took you into Blackwater one day, forcing you to buy a nice dress and hat. You hated dressing this way, preferring your pants and button-down shirts. Your mother insisted, however, that as your father’s daughter and a proper lady, you needed to look nice. She ignored your statements that most proper ladies had the knowledge to at least write. She took you to the post office and paid a man there to write a letter to her sister. She didn’t tell you what the letter was for.  


Two weeks after the visit to the post office, a young lady, close to your age, arrived on your family’s tiny ranch. She showed up by stage, dressed in a fine city dress, her hair perfectly pinned under her broad hat. Your mother and father made you stand outside to welcome her. Her name was Emma, and they explained she was your cousin from Saint Denise and they’d invited her to stay with you for six months.  


Those six months were awful. Emma, although beautiful and everything a woman should be, at least in the eyes of your father, was conceited and arrogant. On the first morning after her arrival, she witnessed you outside, taking care of Rain and the other horses. She had come outside, already dressed and primped, explaining a woman shouldn’t subject herself to such filthy work. You explained it was the only way you could keep your beloved horse. She laughed at you for this.  


“What impropriety,” she said. “A woman with her own horse? Why, only men care for these beasts.”  


“Who’s the beast?” you snapped. “The beast or the person who names them as such?”  


She had pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at you. After that, she started pointing out everything you did that she deemed unlady-like, from the way you dressed yourself, ate your meals, and even lay on the bed you were forced to share with her. In her eyes, you could do nothing properly.  


Your mother, not knowing how to properly tack, groom or hitch the horses to wagons, forced you to take Emma into Blackwater nearly every day. She treated you like her personal chauffeur, demanding you take her from one street to the next. On Saturday nights, she would put on her finest gowns and have you drive her to the city hall in Blackwater where they had a dance. You would be wearing a dress too, after your mother insisted you join the dancing since you had to bring her back anyway. These dances were miserable for you. You were sure they were designed for men to come meet their future wives. Marriage was one of the last things you ever desired. You saw the way your parents were when they were around each other, and happy is the last word you would use to describe them.  


These dances also proved to be boring. Since most of the boys your age were from Blackwater, and at least knew you were your father’s daughter, the young girl who was always running off, falling in the dirt, and even getting in an occasional fight, they wanted nothing to do with you. Not that you wanted anything to do with them either. Most of these dances you spent sitting on the sidelines of the main activity, watching your cousin with loathing. Emma was, of course, a popular item at these dances. Beautiful, graceful, elegant, and most importantly, submissive and stupid, most of the boys wanted to dance and flirt with her.  


When the dances mercifully ended at midnight, Emma almost always brought up the fact that you were never asked to dance, never even asked for your name. You didn’t care though. You just wished you could stop going to these stupid social functions.  


To your parents, Emma was the perfect young woman. They said she was someone you should idolize and mimic. Your mother even sent you into town with Emma with instructions to her to buy you clothes she would wear. You were forced to wear them, no matter how often you complained. All your old clothes, with the exception of a couple working pants and shirts, were destroyed so you had no choice but to wear the gowns and dresses.  


Your father doted on Emma, often verbalizing how much he wished you would be more like her. She was helpful around the house, always taking over chores for your mother. There was only one thing your mother wished Emma could do that you could and that was tending to the garden. You were instructed to teach her, but she complained every time the two of you set foot into the gated garden, stating how much she hated getting dirt under her nails and how the sun burned her skin.  


After only four months since Emma first arrived, you thought you might go insane. At the awful dances on weekends, you often found yourself at a table with a few bottles of alcohol. You’d grab one and nurse it all night. Emma would complain on the way home how you reeked of alcohol and how you couldn’t drive the horses straight. One of the night’s, when you were more drunk than usual and hardly able to stay seated on the wagon, she threatened to tell your father. Her reward for this was you pushing her off the wagon and into the dirt. After that, she no longer threatened you and she quit trying to stop you from drinking. During your mandatory trips during the day into town, you would often stop at the saloon in Blackwater and buy drinks while you waited for her to get back from her shopping or the men who were courting her. You had begun to drink so heavily by month five that your mother began to worry about your health since your eyes were constantly bloodshot, you were losing weight and you were suffering from balance problems.  


Your father took you to the doctor, who knew you were constantly getting drunk and told your father. He instantly fell into a huge fit of rage, screaming that a young woman should never drink alcohol with the exception of wine or champagne at parties. He dragged you by your hair to the sheriff’s office, throwing you on his desk and demanding you stay the night in jail for public intoxication.  


The next day, when you were released from jail after having paid $10, you had to walk all the way home, hungover, exhausted and terrified. When you did finally get home, your father beat you horribly to the point where he had sprained your wrist, cut open your lip and covered your skin in bruises and welts. He did this all while Emma and your mother watched near the fireplace, neither of them even attempting to stop him as he struck you again and again. He threatened that if you ever had another sip of alcohol again, he’d shoot Rain.  


Three weeks after, Emma finally returned to Saint Denis. You’d been sober the entire time, but you breathed a final sigh of relief when she got into the stage and disappeared down the trail. You never saw her again, not that you cared. Nearly a year afterwards, your father received a letter from her stating she was engaged to a wealthy man who owned a mine in Annesburg. You remember distinctly the look he gave you after having read the letter.  


A month later, your father came home one afternoon. You had been working outside in the pasture, cleaning up the horses and setting out fresh bedding when he called you inside. You entered the house, finding your mother and father standing beside the fireplace, staring at you curiously.  


“Y/N,” your father said. “You’re getting married three weeks from now.”  


Your stomach dropped. “Married? To who?”  


Your father grinned, tucking his thumbs underneath his suspender straps. “A man named James Brackenridge. Lovely fellow I met in the shop a few weeks ago. He’s just moved to Blackwater and he’s been looking for a wife for some time now. Says he has a lot of money, big estate just north of Armadillo. I think you’d make him a splendid wife.”  


“No, father, please. Don’t make me do this.”  


“You’re going to marry this man!” your father screamed. “All you’ve done here the last few years is be completely useless! Your poor mother has been taking care of this house alone! You’ve acted as though you were some prisoner! We’ve let you live under our roof, sleep in a bed and eat our food, and yet you remain ungrateful!”  


“I am a prisoner!” you shouted back. “Yes, I’ve lived under this roof and eaten your food, but I didn’t ask to be your child! All I ever wanted, the only thing I ever asked for, was to learn how to read, to go to school! You wouldn’t even give me that!”  


“You are a young lady!” your father roared, spitting in your face. “Why would you need to read? You’re going to marry this man and live with him! You are going to make him happy as his wife! If I hear that you’ve displeased him in any way, I’ll put a bullet into Rain’s skull!”  


You stood there, tears dripping down your face. “Please don’t make me do this.”  


He sneered at you. “It’s too late. He’s already paid a reasonable amount of money to marry you.”  


“He paid you to marry me?”  


“Well, of course. I’m not so heartless to let you marry some stranger without gaining something in return.”  


You hadn’t noticed the way your mother refused to look you in the face as he said that.  


Three weeks later, you walked down the aisle in the church going towards the pulpit. You had never seen the man you were getting married to until that moment. Only a few years older than you, he had small, watery eyes, dark thin hair. He was tall and thin. He didn’t smile as you walked towards him, wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet of roses. Not that you smiled either as tears streamed down your face. Despite your desires to run, to do anything in your power to get as far as you could from the man next to you, you said your vows and kissed him in front of the Father. James, your husband, took your hand and walked you outside to a wagon pulled by an old chestnut stallion and Rain. He didn’t help you in, not that you needed him to, and he drove you to his home.  


What your father had said was a fine estate was as different from his home as a Missouri Fox Trotter is to an old, lame donkey. His home turned out to be an old, two room cabin, backed by a small pasture and a three-stalled barn that was beginning to fall apart. James took you into the cabin, its only rooms being a kitchen with a dining area and the bedroom, barely large enough to fit a dresser and the bed.  


That night, James forced himself upon you. You had fought him as hard as you could, trying to get away from him, but he overpowered you, pinning you to the bed with his hand squeezing your throat to the point you thought you would lose consciousness. You laid on the bed afterwards, terrified and horribly sore as he slept next to you.  
You discovered a few weeks after your wedding that James was not only a man who lived in a small cabin, he was also poor due to the fact that he often went into Armadillo to gamble, drink and whore. Not that you minded, of course. It got him out of the house and away from you. You preferred he go sleep with a prostitute instead of forcing himself upon you. Not that he didn’t do that still. Nearly once a week, he’d come home stinking of alcohol and trap you to the bed, having his way with you until he was satisfied, leaving you sore and miserable.  


Six months passed since you married him, and things had gone from bad to worse. James refused to put a curb on his spending habits in town. He was already a poor man when he married you, and he wasn’t getting any richer now. He also refused to get a job, too busy gambling during the days and sleeping with women at nights. You tried your best to control the money, but not knowing how to count or even manage it yourself, it proved more than difficult. It got to the point where you would go to the market in Armadillo and had hardly enough money to buy even the cheapest of foods. You tried cutting back on your own diet, going down to one full meal a day, but it wasn’t enough. James was starving you.  


You ended up getting a job as a seamstress in Armadillo, but the work paid very little. Not enough to buy food for both you and James. Considering how thin he was, he ate an enormous amount of food.  


One afternoon, after you had gotten off work, you found yourself riding Rain into Tall Trees towards your grandmother’s cabin. You hadn’t been there since she died so many years ago, but you felt so miserable you figured it might be a reprieve. Along the way, you stumbled upon a hunter’s camp. It looked like it had been there for days, the fire pit cold and black. You investigated it, stumbling upon the hunter’s body. He had been killed by what looked like a bear. You saw, still strapped around his waist, a gunbelt with a knife and a sawed-off shotgun. Trapped beneath his body lay a bow and quiver full of arrows. Sucking in your breath, you moved his corpse, freeing the weapons and unbuckling the belt. You strapped them to yourself and carried on, only to find that your grandmother’s cabin had been torn down and replaced with a mining outlet.  


After discovering the hunter’s bow and other weapons, you took it upon yourself to learn how to use them. Every morning, after your husband would leave for town and before your shift started, you would go out to the yard, placing bottles in various locations and practice shooting them with the gun and the bow. Both proved to be difficult, particularly the gun with its aggressive kick-back. The bow was a little easier, although it made you incredibly stiff and sore.  


After practicing for a few weeks, you took Rain on a trail ride not too far from your home. You felt competent enough with a bow to try your hand at hunting. After several hours and many failed attempts, you finally killed a pronghorn buck. You had no idea how to skin and butcher it, but you sat next to the carcass and worked away at it with your knife. The end result was sloppy, but at least you had something. You put the skin and the body on Rain’s back and went into Armadillo, praying your husband wouldn’t see you. You went and traded the pronghorn to the butcher, who was thoroughly unimpressed with the quality. He gave you some tips on how to properly skin an animal and where on a carcass to cut.  


After that, you tried your hand several times a week at hunting, getting slowly better and more accurate. Nearly a year had passed since you found the hunter’s camp, and you had gotten so good at hunting that you were able to quit your job as a seamstress. James knew nothing of your job, so he was never suspicious, and he was usually too drunk to notice the steady flow of money. You and he barely spoke to one another, considering you were married.  


It was obvious at this point in your marriage that the two of you would never grow to love one another. You didn’t even like each other. He turned out to be as angry and abusive as your father was, if not more. On the nights he forced you into bed, he still enjoyed beating you, purpling your skin under his firm grip.  


One night, when he got home, he pushed you down and put his face inches from yours.  


“We’re going to have a baby,” he said, his breath reeking of alcohol.  


“A baby?” you asked. “Why would we be having a baby? I’m not even pregnant.”  


“No, but you’re going to be. We’ve been married over a year. People expect us to have a family.”  


“Who cares what people expect?” you snapped. “They expect us to be happy and we’re far from that.”  


He slapped you hard, grabbed your face and made you look at him again.  


“I don’t care if you’re happy, we’re going to have a child and look like a normal family.”  


If things hadn’t been horrible before that night, they certainly were afterwards. Almost each night, he would come home and force you to the bed, determined to start a family with you. You couldn’t understand why, it was no secret that he loathed you. You often wondered why he had paid money for you to be his wife.  


After three months of constant attempts and you still weren’t pregnant, James dragged you to the doctor in Blackwater. It was the first time you visited your hometown in years. Not that you had happy memories of the place. The doctor inspected you. After he spoke with both you and James about your activities together, as far as how often you tried to get pregnant, he came to the conclusion that you were very unlikely to ever get pregnant.  


James became enraged then, dragging you to the wagon he had drove, and galloped the horses to your parents’ home. He tossed you through the door, screaming into your father’s face about how you were so inadequate of a wife that you couldn’t even provide him with children. Your father calmed him down, saying he had no way of knowing. James finally settled down, but not before saying what a waste of money you were. Your father told him to go home with you, saying that all sales were final.  


You went home with him. The upside of finding out you were infertile was that he hardly ever tried to force himself on you anymore. In fact, you hardly saw him at all most days. Things went on this way for nearly a year. You still went out hunting and gathering each day, selling your wares to the butcher and the small doctor in Armadillo. You were getting so good that you had even been able to start saving money. For what you didn’t quite know, but you were sure it would come in handy one day.  


One night, James came home more intoxicated than he had been in a long time. You had just set down dinner, expecting him when he walked in, stumbling heavily. He stared groggily at the table and the plates set with venison and boiled vegetables.  


“‘Nother piss-poor example of barely-edible food,” he slurred.  


You bowed your head, used to these kinds of insults. You weren’t ashamed of your cooking. Instead you were trying to contain your anger. You’d grown tired of his insults, his abuse.  


“Y’know, just once I wish I could come home and see this house spick-and-span with a banquet laid out for me after having a hard day.”  


“Why?” you snarled. “Why would you deserve that? All you do, day after day, is drink, gamble and hire prostitutes for your amusement. Explain to me how your days are hard.”  


His face turned a darker shade of red as he pointed a wobbly finger at you. “You cannot talk to me that way! You are my wife and will treat me with some damn respect!”  


“And as my husband, you are so supposed to treat me with love and gentleness! All you’ve ever done is hate me!”  


“No one could live with you and not end up hating you! You’re the biggest mistake I ever made!” he spat.  


“I couldn’t agree more! Just hope I was worth the cash! Can’t imagine how you got enough to even afford me, probably managed to actually win a game of poker for once.”  


“Oh, honey, trust me when I say I gambled that money away so fast I can’t even remember how much it was!”  


“What?” you said. “How did you gamble away the money you paid for me? My dad wouldn’t have given me to you if you didn’t offer him something.”  


He laughed, sneering at you. “You think I paid money for you? Oh no, it was the other way ‘round, girl! I met your daddy at the saloon in Blackwater when he went off about how he was sick of having his no good daughter hanging around his house all day. He offered me money if I would marry you.”  


Your anger flared. How could you have been so stupid to think that some stranger would actually buy you? How could your father do this to you? Your eyes teared up. James smiled wide at you.  


“I almost regret takin’ that money from your daddy. If only I knew how much the price tag really was. Marryin’ a woman who can’t even have children. It’s like havin’ a cow who can’t even milk. Only one thing to do then; send it to the butcher.”  


You whipped around and went into the bedroom, reaching under the bed and grabbing your gunbelt, pulling out your sawed-off shotgun and pointing it at the man you hated so much.  


He laughed. “You don’t have the guts, little girl! I doubt you even know how to use that thing!”  


“You’d be surprised, you sack of shit! You really think this food, all the fresh game I cook for your miserable ass, just magically shows up? No, I had to learn to hunt so we wouldn’t starve!”  


He reached over and grabbed the beer bottle you had set out on the table for him for dinner, smashing it over the table, liquid spilling everywhere.  


“You don’t have the guts to hunt, and you certainly can’t pull the trigger of that gun,” he growled.  


“Try me!”  


“Then why ain’t you shot me yet?”  


You were just about to pull the trigger when he lunged at you, smacking the gun out of your hand. As you swung around from the force of his strike, you felt a sharp pain in your shoulder. You turned back and saw him pulling the broken beer bottle away from you, the broken shards coated in your blood. You dashed back to the gun on the floor as he reached for you again. You dropped to the floor, grabbed the gun and rolled over onto your back. He stood above you, preparing to strike you with the bottle again when you pulled the trigger. It exploded, the slug plunging into his stomach, blood spurting all over you. He fell with a heavy crash, gasping and sputtering. You stood up and looked down on James, grasping at his gut, blood streaming from his mouth. He looked up at you with shock and disbelief, choking on his blood.  


“I hope I’m worth the price tag now!” you spit on him.  


You turned back to your room, grabbing the gun belt and buckling it around your waist, grasped your bow and arrows and a few other necessities, including the money you’d been saving, before turning back and walking past your husband’s corpse. You threw him one last look before walking out the door.  


You mounted Rain, still fuelled by the rage from your argument with James. You galloped away from the cabin towards Blackwater, back to your parents’ home. It was night when you reached it. You stormed up to the house, throwing open the door to find your mother and father sitting at the table, finishing their meal.  


“Y/N?” your mother said, surprised. You hadn’t seen them since James yelled at your father for you being infertile. “What are you doing here?” her voice shook from the dark look on your face hidden beneath your hat, your shoulder still dripping blood.  


“Y/N,” your father barked, standing up. “Why do you have a gun? How in the world did you even get a hold of it?”  


“Is it true?” you growled at him.  


“Is what true?”  


“Did you pay James to marry me?!” you yelled.  


“So he told you, did he?” your father said calmly.  


“Yeah, he told me right before I shot him!”  


He stared at you angrily.  


“Why?” you finally say, tears sparking in your eyes. “Why do you hate me? I tried being a good daughter to you! All I ever asked from you, ever, was to learn about the world! I just wanted to read, to go to school! The only excuse you ever gave me was that I was a girl!”  


He huffed angrily at you. “If you think you were a good daughter, Y/N, think again. You have been such a disappointment to me and your poor mother. How I wished your cousin Emma was my daughter!”  


You whipped out your gun, pointing it at him. Your mother screamed and stood up. You pointed the gun at her and told her to sit down and shut up, to which she did.  


“Don’t talk to your mother that way!” your father screamed.  


You pointed the gun back at him. “I will speak to the both of you however I wish. You’ve done nothing to earn my respect!”  


Your father started to approach you, telling you to give him the gun. You pulled down the hammer. “Stay where you are! I killed James with this very gun. You think I won’t kill you, too?”  


He stopped, his face darkening as he raised his hands. “Fine, Y/N. I never let you go to school or learn to read because women do not have the intelligence to handle school. Your tiny minds simply cannot handle it.”  


“Your mother could read!” you screamed. “She tried to teach me, but you didn’t like it. So what, you think that women only exist to wait on you men while you take over the world?”  


Your father said nothing, but you can tell by his face that it was exactly what he thought.  


“Tell me this, father,” you said, tears spilling from your eyes. “Was there ever a day you felt proud of me? Was there even a time you were happy that I was your daughter?”  


“What do you want me to say?” he said. “That you were an exemplary child? All you ever were was ungrateful.”  


“I’m your kid! I didn’t ask to be part of your family, so I don’t owe you my gratitude! You chose to have me!”  


Your father approached you again. You refused to let him come at you and wrestle the gun from you. Just before he reached you, you pulled the trigger, shooting him in the chest, feeling the flecks of his blood spatter onto you. He was dead before he hit the floor. Your mother screamed, standing to her feet. You whipped the gun to point it at her, forcing her to sit down again.  


“And you,” you snarled at her, walking slowly towards her, stepping over your father’s corpse. “You’re as bad as him!”  


“Y/N,” she cried. “I’ve always loved you! I just wanted you to be happy!”  


“No, you tried to make me into a better version of yourself! You brought my fucking cousin in to try to make me into the woman you wanted me to be! How many times did you just sit back and watch him hurt me?!” you gestured to your father’s body. “You should have protected me!”  


“Y/N, please, I hated watching your father hurt you! But there was nothing I could do.”  


“Yes there was! You could have told the police, hell you could have left him! But no, you were just too much of a coward to stand up to him!”  
Full of rage and pain, you grabbed a length of rope hanging beside the front door. You tied your mother to her chair under the threat of your gun while she cried. When she was tied securely, you turned to her.  


“Now none of you can ever hurt anyone again! The world will be a better place without any of you.”  


You grabbed a lantern from the table and smashed it on the floor, letting the fire spread across the home you’d grown up in. Your mother screamed and pleaded your forgiveness as you walked out the door, snapping it shut behind you.  


You mounted Rain and galloped away, stopping on a nearby hill and turning to see the house engulfed in flames. You turned away from the blaze, dashing down the hill and into the night. As you reached the road, another rider wearing a blue shirt on a palomino paint appeared on the road. You crashed into him, Rain whinnying in shock. You got up, glanced at the stranger’s face, and then got back on your horse, racing away into the darkness.  


Within three days, the news of your parents’ death had spread to Blackwater, and Armadillo announced in their newspaper that your husband had been murdered. You had wandered into Blackwater when you saw a bounty poster with your portrait, claiming you were wanted for questioning, and the sheriff was offering $500 for you.  


After that, you decided to stay away from Blackwater and Armadillo. You tried going west into Tumbleweed for a few months, but the town was a little too rough and hot for your taste, so you wandered back east. You avoided the towns as much as you could, staying on your own as much as possible. You were beginning to debate going north or east when you reached Tall Trees a year after murdering your family, and that was when a rugged outlaw came and found you, looking to collect your bounty.


	11. A New Home

Warnings: blood, swearing  


Word count: ~6000

You finish your story beneath the oak tree. You’ve been leaning forward for a while now. Shame rips through you as tears streak down your cheeks. You’re glad Arthur has already withdrawn his arm from your back. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just so you can see on his face how pathetic he must find you. You hate how weak you’d been for so many years, how long you allowed yourself to suffer. Of course, you weren’t exactly proud of how you handled it in the end either, killing your entire family when you could have so easily just run away.  


You suddenly feel Arthur’s hand on your shoulder, rubbing with his thumb. Despite yourself, you look over at him. He looks at you sadly.  


“I’m real sorry, sweetheart,” he says gently. You look away again.  


“Don’t be, Arthur. Not like you had anything to do with it. But maybe we should just call this whole thing off,” you add, feeling your heart break.  


“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”  


“I mean there isn’t a future for us, Arthur. I obviously can’t give anyone a family, not even you, and I doubt I could ever lie with anyone without...”  


“Ya think that’s the only thing I care about in a relationship?” he snaps, withdrawing his hand. You look back at him. “Darlin’, I don’t wanna lose you just because you can’t have kids. It ain’t like you chose that, so I ain’t gonna blame ya for it. “Sides, kids don’t make a family a family.”  


He rests his hand on your shoulder again. “And as far as bein’ intimate, well, that might have to be somethin’ we work on. But I ain’t gonna force ya. What I’m sayin’ is I’d rather have ya as you are than not have ya at all. Shoar, maybe yer past gave ya some bad scars, and it might’ve broken ya. But I’m willin’ to help ya put yerself back together.”  


A new wave of tears hits you. He smiles and grabs your hand, removing it from your knee and squeezing it gently. You feel your heart swell as you look into his soft blue eyes. He pulls you into his chest while you cry, letting you get all your emotions out. He doesn’t say a word while your pain rips through your chest. He just lets you cry, rubbing your back and brushing your hair with his fingers.  


When you finally manage to compose yourself, he helps you stand up. He takes your face in his hands and wipes the last few tears from your cheeks.  


“Ya gonna be a’right, girl,” he says gently. He lets you go and grabs your hand, leading you up to camp.  


“Hey, what ya say we go do somethin’, get yer mind off of things?” he says as you walk past the hitching posts.  


“What do you have in mind?” you ask, sniffing a little.  


“Well, I been helpin’ this guy I met in Valentine. Says he’s an author, doin’ a story on some ol’ gunslinger. Offered me a lot of money to go find some people who used to run with a guy named Jim “Boy” Calloway. I found three of ‘em already, had to kill ‘em. Just need one more. Ya wanna come with me? I’m hopin’ she’ll be easier than the others.”  


You blink a few times, the sun making your tired eyes smart a bit. “D’you know where she is?”  


Arthur pulls a photo out of his satchel. You see a tall woman in a black dress and large, black hat holding a rifle. He flips it over and you see the name “Black Belle”.  


“Says here she’s holed up in the swamps of the Bayou Nwa. Think I have an idea where we might find her.”  


You nod your head. “Okay, let’s go find her. I think I could use a good run. ‘Sides, I ain’t never been to a swamp before.”  


“Nor have I,” Arthur admits, putting his photo back in his satchel.  


You both check your horses, making sure you have enough provisions to last a few days just in case it takes longer than expected to find this Black Belle.  


As Arthur leads you out of the trees from Horseshoe Overlook, you trot Rannoch by Artemis’s side.  


“So you said you already found three others for this author,” you say. “What were they like?”  


“Bunch o’ miserable bastards,” he says. “First was a man named Flaco Hernandez. Found him in a cabin up in a place called Cairn lake on the way to Colter. Think he was on the run from the law; didn’t seem at all like he was too happy ‘bout bein’ in the snow. Made me duel him, guess he weren’t too interested in talkin’ ‘bout his past.  


“Then there was Emmett Granger. Pig farmer. Don’t think I ever been more happy to see a man dead.”  


“Why?”  


“He kept talkin’ ‘bout the horrible things he done to people. Skinnin’ ‘em, scalpin’ ‘em. Think he was makin’ it all up. Maybe he did kill people, but he was actin’ all tough ‘bout it. Made me clean up his pig shit just for a quote, but when I was done he wouldn’t give me one about Jim Boy. So I stuck a stick of dynamite in his shit pile and blew it up. He tried throwin’ a knife at me, but I shot him before he could. Like I said, nasty bastard.  


“The last man I found in Rhodes. Ya been there?”  


You shake your head.  


“Ain’t surprised. It’s on the west side of Lemoyne. Anyways, found him on a train. When I asked him about Jim Boy, he thought I’d come to kill him for killin’ some man in his sleep. Guess he felt real guilty ‘bout it, don’t quite know why. Made me chase him on top of the train until he got to the engine where he tried to shoot me. Like I said, all of ‘em were a bunch of miserable bastards. Doesn’t give me high hopes ‘bout this lady.”  


“Well, at least you won’t be alone this time. Doesn’t mean I’ll be a good shot, though. Ain’t exactly a gunslinger myself.”  


Arthur huffed. “‘S a’right. Like I said, we’ll just try talkin’ to her first.”  


You follow Arthur’s lead, going over the plains of the Heartlands and passing Emerald Ranch. He takes you south and into a woodland. The trees start to thicken until you hit a wide, dark river. The trees on the opposite bank are foreign to you. Tall, wide willows dangle their ribbons of green towards the water. You cross the river through a covered bridge. When you enter the open air again, it’s almost like you’ve journeyed into a completely different world.  


The air around you is thick and wet, almost soupy. You don’t entirely enjoy it as it seems to make the heat less bearable. A thick mist hangs persistently over the ground despite it being mid-afternoon. You can hear the ground beneath Rannoch’s hooves squelch loudly as he trots along. The vegetation on the sides of the dirt path is even foreign. Thick clumps of bushes, some drooping with the weight of berries. Tall grasses rise out of the mud. Tall willow trees, their trunks slick with green moss and slime. You see a flock of large white birds with long necks and legs take off into the air, cooing softly. Something loud growls from the right side of the path; it sounds huge. You hope you never see what made it.  


Arthur takes you along the path where the trees begin to thin, opening up onto a muddy plain. As you run along the path, you hear the squeals of wild boars dashing towards the river you had just crossed. To the south, through the trees you see a wide, shallow brown lake. You don’t think it’s very deep as it’s dotted with multiple small islands, and in several areas the willows grow right out of the water. You spot what looks like a partially submerged log close to the bank near the path, but as the two horses approach, it disappears beneath the gloomy water.  


You carry on, passing the lake. To the south, you see tall columns of smoke rising into the air from a distance. You squint your eyes, trying to see where it’s coming from through the muggy air. You can see the far-off outlines of buildings.  


You pass by a muddy quagmire and see something strange. A lizard lies in the mud, but it’s huge. Larger than any lizard you’ve ever seen. It looks to be twice Arthur’s length, and you can see its teeth lining its long snout. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The animal opens its mouth and hisses as the horses pass it on the trail, but it doesn’t move.  


“What the hell was that?” you ask, turning in your saddle to look at the lizard.  


“Alligator. Nasty reptiles.”  


You spot up ahead on the south side of the trail a small cabin held up on stilts above the thick mud. The land surrounding it is littered with bits of old wagons, a few empty crates and boxes scattered around. Arthur pulls Artemis to a stop and takes out the photo of Black Belle again. He reads the back and then replaces it.  


“Think this might be the place,” he says, walking on towards the house.  


You both dismount where the trail leads to the cabin, walking along the soft ground and to the stairs. Just as Arthur’s about to step onto the porch, the front door opens and he’s met with the barrel of a rifle.  


“You there!” says a woman’s sharp voice. “You a bounty hunter?”  


“Not right now, I ain’t,” he says, taking a step back and holding his hands up.You do the same.  


“What about you?” she spits, pointing the gun to you.  


You raise your hands higher. “No, ma’am. Ain’t never gone after a bounty in my life.”  


“You Black Belle?” Arthur asks. She whips the gun back in his direction. “I’d like to talk to you about your wild West days.”  


“I don’t care much for reminiscing,” she says, opening the door wider. You see her in a floor-length black dress and black hat as she steps out. A cunning smile spreads along her face. You recognize her from the photograph: Black Belle. “You got any friends is bounty hunters?” she walks out of the cabin, still pointing the rifle at you and Arthur.  


“Not that spring to mind,” he says, taking a step back. You step back onto the soggy ground. She looks up and down the path in the distance.  


“Well, then you done lead them boys here and you none the wiser.”  


You both turn around and see several men trotting down the path towards the cabin. You can tell by the size of their group and the way they’re looking at Belle they’re hunters.  


“Ah, those bounty hunters,” he says.  


“Knew my luck’d run out sooner or sooner,” she snaps, lowering her gun.  


“Well, get inside. I’ll tell ‘em yer gone,” he offers.  


She laughs and points the gun back at him, stepping towards him. You pull out your gun but don’t point it from its holster.  


“Oh, no no,” she says, ignoring you. “I ain’t hiding from them scalp hunters. I ain’t fightin’ them on my own neither. You still want that wild West story?”  


“Yes, ma’am,” he says, lowering his hands. You turn and look back at the path and the gathering bounty hunters.  


“Well get up here, then. When I give the word, you pull that,” she motions to a box with a plunger. “Whole place is wired.” She gives him a cheeky wink as he takes his position. You kneel down behind the railing, watching as the bounty hunters dismount. One of them approaches the path to the porch, holding a wanted poster.  


“Black Belle!” he calls. “We got a contract here for your life or liberty!”  


“Well, why don’t ya let me see that contract there and we’ll talk!” she calls.  


The bounty hunter starts walking towards the cabin. “Light ‘em up, cowboy,” she whispers.  


Arthur presses down on the plunger, and the ground shakes as the hidden dynamite explodes. Several of the bounty hunters fly into the air, blown back by the blast. You pull out your sawed-off, shooting at the remaining men, accompanied by Arthur’s pistols and Belle’s rifle. She yells profanities and taunts as more bounty hunters show up. A wagon appears, a man hiding behind a gatling gun begins to shoot, spraying bullets everywhere. Arthur stands up straight, aiming his pistol. You’re worried for a second he’s going to get shot, but then he pulls his trigger and the gatling gun goes silent. You peak over the railing and see the man who had been operating it is now lying dead in the wagon. The three of you finish off the remaining bounty hunters until they turn and flee into the swamp.  


“Woo!” Belle screams, standing up.  


“Shit!” Arthur says, holstering his guns.  


“That the last of them scalp hunters?”  


“For now,” Arthur says, standing up straight. You follow his lead, holstering your gun. “So, you gonna tell me about yer wild West days? Runnin’ with Jim Boy Calloway?”  


“Little boy Calloway?” she laughs. “The only runnin’ that man ever did was away from a fight.”  


“Well, apparently the man’s a famous gunslinger,” Arthur says, lighting a cigarette and taking a puff from it before handing it to you.  


“Don’t get what’s famous confused for what’s true,” she says and reaches into her cabin, pulling out a heavy burlap sack and throwing it over her shoulder. She walks passed you and Arthur. “Those of us who lived that life was too busy bein’ scared for our scalp to talk to no writers or novel men.  


“What were they like then?” Arthur asks, following her.  


“Same as now, I guess, only longer ago,” she says in a strange tone.  


“Ya mind if I get yer photo?” he asks her, pulling out a camera.  


“Not at all,” she says, plopping the large sack at her feet. She grabs her rifle and aims it up into the sky. Arthur snaps a photo and thanks her, stepping forward to grab her sack. She laughs, picking it up and away from him, throwing a sly smile before slinging it over her horse’s back.  


“You gonna be a’right?” he asks.  


“Been runnin’ for twenty years, suppose I’ll be runnin’ till I drop. Just the way it is.” She winks at him again before charging down the trail.  


He waves at her, staring at her back. “Interestin’ woman,” he says, turning away and walking towards Artemis.  


“No doubt,” you say, whistling for Rannoch.  


After mounting your horses, you trot down along the trail. When you reach the muddy lake, Arthur stops and pulls out his binoculars.  


“What are you lookin’ at?” you ask.  


“Heard there’s some real interestin’ birds in these parts. I don’t see any...hold on. Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s Mr. Mason,” he chuckles, replacing his binoculars into his satchel.  


“Mr. Mason? The photographer?” you ask, gazing across the water. You can’t see anything through the dense trees. Arthur turns back down the way you had just come, dashing along the shores of the shallow lake. Rannoch stumbles slightly as one of his hooves sinks into the thick mud. You’re grateful you don’t see any alligators nearby. Something about them gives you the creeps.  


You travel along the southside of the lake and you see the photographer standing on the mucky bank near a skiff. His camera points out over the water.  


Arthur approaches the man. You can tell he’s smiling.  


“They creep up on you, y’know,” he says, making the man jump.  


“Mr. Morgan! Ms. Y/L/N!”  


“What are ya workin’ on?”  


“Do you know anything about alligators?”  


“Only the basics, avoid them wherever possible.”  


“Did you know that in the last 50 years, we’ve wiped out 90% of them?”  


“You say that like it makes ya sad,” Arthur looks at him from beneath the rim of his hat.  


“They’re beautiful creatures.”  


Arthur chuckles. “Well, let’s see if you change yer mind when one of ‘em’s got you in a death roll.”  


“Yes, I’m sure to make some animal a very happy lunch someday!”  


“You stay there, you might get a great shot but then you’ll get eaten,” Arthur walks over and grabs Albert’s bag, placing it into the boat.  


“What a way to go!” he says, staring almost frightened over the water.  


“C’mon, get in the boat. It’ll be fine,” Arthur gestures..  


Albert climbs in, handing his camera to Arthur as he clambers over the seats. Once he’s sitting in the front, he reaches back for his camera as Arthur helps you into the skiff.  


You’ve only ever been in a boat once, and that was when you were very little, still living in Blackwater. You can barely remember it. You sit between the two men in the middle of the boat as Arthur grabs the oars, pushing away from the shore.  


“You carry on shootin’ from that bank,” Arthur says. “Yer gonna wish them wolves had eaten ya.”  


“Really?”  


“Yes. The 10% of gators that survived,” Arthur calls from the back. “They’re the mean ones.”  


You situate yourself more into the middle of the seat, feeling nervous. You slowly lean over, staring into the murky brown water, partially curious about what lies beneath the boat, but also terrified. Albert sets up his camera to point out over the water. He directs Arthur to certain areas of the shallow lake. At one point, you see a small group of boars drinking from the lake just as a wide, reptilian head emerges, snapping its powerful jaws around the neck of one of the boars, dragging it beneath the water. Albert’s camera flashes and he hollers.  


“Yes! Caught him enjoying his dinner!”  


He directs the boat further into the lake until the boat is nearly upon an island where you can see a particularly large gator basking in the sun.  


“Oh no!” Albert squeals as the gator runs off into the tall grass and away from the camera. “We’ve spooked him. Would you mind, Arthur?”  


“What?”  


“Well, would you mind going over there and luring him out? He’s quite spectacular!”  


“Ya gotta be kiddin’ me,” Arthur grumbles as he climbs over the boat. You grab his hand.  


“Be careful,” you say, worried.  


“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a minute.”  


He slowly wades his way over to the island, peaking over the grass. He suddenly darts back to the boat, climbing in as the large reptile barrels out after him. You scream a little, grabbing Arthur’s arms and pulling him in. He sits on the seat, breathing heavily as the gator scurries into the water, away from the boat.  


“You okay?” you ask, looking for the gator.  


“I’m just fine.”  


“That was quite remarkable!” Albert hollers. “I think we have enough photographs, Mr. Morgan. Take us back to shore!”  


Arthur pulls out from the island, turning the boat and rowing it back to the shore where the horses patiently stand. He hops out of the boat, pulling it onto land.  


“These photos yer takin’,” he says to Albert as he helps you out.  


“Yes?”  


“They gonna be any good?”  


Albert laughs as he stands up. “I certainly hope so, though I’m doubtful. The subject is magnificent, the backdrop jaw dropping. But God’s agent of beauty is a talentless fool.”  


“You shoar make me laugh the way you talk about yerself, Mr. Mason!” Arthur chuckles, putting his hand around your waist.  


“Well, I’m good for laughing at if nothing else,” Albert chuckles as he pushes the boat back out into the water, rowing himself in a circle.  


“I didn’t mean it like that.”  


“I know. But may I mention that you two make quite the handsome couple?”  


You bow your head, blushing. Arthur squeezes your hip gently, laughing. “Take care of yerself, Mr. Mason.”  


“And you too, Mr. Morgan. Ms. Y/L/N? It was a pleasure once again!”  


You both wave to Albert as you turn to your horses, mounting them and heading back to the trail.  


“I kinda like that fella,” you say.  


Arthur laughs. “Me too.”  


You look to the south of the swamp at the distant buildings belching smoke.  


“What city is that?” you ask.  


“I think it’s Saint Denis,” Arthur says, stopping.  


You suddenly think of Emma, your horrible cousin. The last thing you want to do is visit the city where you might accidentally bump into her. You’re happy leaving her in your past.  


“Let’s go home,” you say, turning Rannoch to go up the path. Arthur follows you, heading on back to camp. 

The next morning, you stand beside Pearson’s fire with Arthur, drinking sips of coffee.  


“John wants you and me to meet him in Valentine. Somethin’ ‘bout rustlin’ sheep.”  


“Oh yeah,” you say, finishing your drink. “He said he was gonna look into that job. Told me he wanted me to be part of it.”  


“Well, good. Let’s go.”  


You both ride to Valentine, spotting John’s horse Old Boy by the stables. He’s leaning on a beam, staring out at the livestock waiting to be sold. A large sign announces that there’s to be an auction later this afternoon.  


“So, feelin’ better, I see,” Arthur says to him. “How’s the scar?”  


“I heal pretty fast,” he says, staring out at the livestock in the corrals. You glance at his face and can see the stitches across his scratched face.  


“Lucky you,” Arthur snips at him. “So you just lazin’ about or you actually want us here for a job?”  


John straightens up and points at some sheep in the nearest corral. “You see them?”  


“What, you see yerself as a shepherd now?” Arthur jokes.  


“Maybe, c’mon, follow me.”  


He starts walking away down the street and towards the main road of Valentine.  


“Where are we goin’?” Arthur asks, following him and you walking in his lead.  


“Collect somethin’ that’s gonna help with the sheep.”  


“Y’know, that attempt to sound enigmatic and interestin,” Arthur says, grabbing Artemis’s reins. “It might work for Dutch, but for you it just makes you look stupid.”  


You throw him a curious look to which he doesn’t see. John leads you down the streets towards the gunsmith. You listen to the two men argue about the wisdom of returning to Blackwater to collect the money that was left there. You agree with Arthur that going back would be nothing more than a death sentence. You have no desire to return.  


You follow Arthur and hitch Rannoch next to Old Boy by the sheriff’s office, crossing the muddy street to the gunsmith. Arthur climbs up the steps to find John leaning against the wall near the door.  


“Here, take this,” he says to Arthur, handing him some money. “Go buy a sniper rifle, will ya?”  


Arthur takes the money and goes inside, leaving you alone to stand next to John.  


“What’s the plan here, John?” you ask.  


“Dug into that note you stole from that guy,” he says, lighting a cigarette. “Found out some fellas are gonna be bringing some sheep for auction here today. Might be able to grab ‘em.”  


Arthur walks out of the gunsmith, the scoped rifle slung over his shoulder.  


“A’right, let’s go,” he says, going back to the horses. You and the men walk down the muddy street and get on your horses.  


“I don’t know why you couldn’t buy this gun yerself,” Arthur calls to him from Artemis’s back.  


“Had a run in with that fella earlier. We ain’t on the best of terms.”  


“You had a run in? I had a run in with nearly half that town! Why are you bein’ so cagey ‘bout all this? Always playin’ some game.”  


“I ain’t the one takin’ Jack out on fishing trips!” John snaps as you pass the train station.  


“No, you ain’t,” Arthur shoots back. “If you say the boy ain’t yers, then what’s the difference? You’d probably run off again!”  


“Why are you so interested in my life? Ain’t you got one of yer own?”  


“Look, just do one thing or another, not be two people at once. That’s all I’m sayin’.”  


You listen to the two men bicker once more as you canter down the path out of Valentine, passing a tall mountain leading towards the Heartlands. John leads you both past it and up onto a slope overlooking the plain you had just been on. To the north lies a wood, and east of that is an oil field sitting on black ground, a train passing through it.  


John leads you to the top of the slope and dismounts. You and Arthur follow him. You stand with the two men on the top of the mountain. Arthur pulls down his scoped rifle and looks through it. You pull out your binoculars and spot three riders in the distance following a small herd of sheep.  


“Just put a bullet in near ‘em, scare ‘em off,” John says.  


Arthur pulls the trigger, the gun thundering. You see two of the riders scurry off, but one of them just stops and pulls out a minuscule pistol.  


“That one’s not runnin’ off, shoot again closer this time.”  


Arthur shoots again, you see a small cloud of dirt rise up just behind the third rider. He gets the message and gallops away, leaving the sheep abandoned.  


You climb back onto Rannoch and follow the two men down the mountainside. The herd has dispersed in the chaos, scattering over the plain. You go and round three of them up, directing them back to the main herd as Arthur and John argue who is going to take charge of the sheep, Arthur eventually winning out.  


“Now ain’t the time for you to be learnin’ how to herd!” he says to John, guiding the sheep towards Valentine. Every once in a while, he spurs them on with a shout. Within moments, the herd dashes past the Valentine train station and into the open gate leading to the corrals. Three men close the gate behind the last sheep and then turn to you and your companions as you dismount.  


“Fine sheep!” John says.  


“They’re okay,” one of the men says, eyeballing you, John and Arthur with a haughty stare.  


“You seen better ‘round here?” Arthur demands.  


“I’ve seen ones with less ambiguity about their provenance.”  


“What you tryin’ to say?” Arthur barks, stepping towards the man. You nervously place your hand on your gun in its holster.  


“I’m sayin’ you give me 25% kickback, and I won’t say nothing to nobody.”  


“Excuse me?!” Arthur says.  


“Sure, I’ll excuse you. For 25%.”  


“Do you want me to put another hole in yer head?” Arthur snarls.  


“Folk swing for rustlin’ livestock, my friend. 25%!”  


John steps forward, pushing Arthur out of the way. He and the man argue about the amount, bringing the agreed amount down to 18%.  


“Pleasure doin’ business with you,” the man says as he shakes John’s hand. He offers it to Arthur, who hesitates before grabbing it. You can tell by his grip that he’d like nothing more than to break his hand.  


“Calm yourself. Think of it as I’m buyin’ your sins,” the man says with a nasty grin.  


“Yeah, yer buyin, but we’re payin’!” Arthur snaps, turning away.  


John mentions to him that Dutch wants to meet him in the saloon just down the street. You start walking Rannoch down the road with them. You expect to go to the large saloon on the main street, but you spot Dutch’s horse, the Count, hitched outside a smaller saloon you’ve only seen but never been inside. You hitch your horse and follow Arthur inside, spotting Dutch and Strauss at one of the tables in the back. Arthur turns to you quickly.  


“Hey, darlin’, ya mind if I speak with Dutch alone? I’ll buy ya a whisky next time we’re in town.”  


“Of course,” you say. “I’ll meet you in camp?”  


He nods and pats you on the back. You turn and climb back onto Rannoch, walking down the main street at a steady trot. You’re partially relieved to be leaving the town. Something doesn’t feel right.  


You’ve just passed the tree below the rail bridge where the mutilated corpse had been hanging when you hear them: gunshots coming from Valentine. You stop, looking behind you. Of course, you can’t see anything from this distance. Within seconds, riders and carriages come barreling in your direction, pushing you further down the path to avoid being trampled as the gunshots continue. Despite your desire to return to the town and help, as you’re sure it has something to do with your gang, you return to camp. You stay in the cover of the trees, still mounted on Rannoch. You wait for several moments, nervous and anxious. You hear horses approaching and see the small white form of the Count and John’s large horse, Strauss clinging onto John. Arthur is nowhere in sight.  


“Dutch!” you call as he charges past you, looking angry. He ignores you, so you follow him, dismounting your appaloosa by the hitching post.  


Dutch begins marching towards Hosea when you catch him by the shoulder.  


“Dutch! What the hell happened? I heard gunshots from Valentine. Where’s Arthur?” you demand.  


“Everything’s just fine, Y/N,” Dutch says, raising his hands slightly. “Let me take care of this first.”  


“Dutch Van der Linde!” you yell, surprising even yourself. “What the hell happened and where is Arthur?!”  


Dutch sighs as several gang members begin to approach, looking worried. Hosea, sitting in his tent, stands up and approaches.  


“Leviticus Cornwall showed up in town. Guess he was real angry about us stealing from his train. We had to shoot our way out. Arthur stayed behind to make sure we weren’t followed.”  


“And you left him there?” you hiss. “You just left him there?! He could be dead for all you know, Dutch! I swear to God if he has even the tiniest scratch, I’m taking it out on your ass, Mr. Van der Linde!”  


“Ms. Y/L/N!” he hollers, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Calm down! He’ll be just fine, he always is!”  


“I don’t care if he’s been fine in the past!” you throw his hands off. “It only takes one time!”  


You hear a horse trampling up the path and turn to see Artemis’s familiar form, Arthur on her back, sweaty but unhurt. You breathe a sigh of relief.  


“You see, Y/N,” Dutch says calmly. “Like I said, he’s always fine.”  


You ignore him and march over to Arthur as he dismounts Artemis. You plant yourself in front of him, hands on your hips. He looks at you, confused.  


“What’s wrong?” he asks.  


“You stayed behind while those other two just ditched you?” you snap. “Let me guess. You hid behind a crate while getting shot at by God knows how many men while Dutch and John just sauntered up the path?”  


“‘S wagon, actually,” he smiled bashfully. “‘Sides, I got out just fine. No one followed us, that’s all that matters.”  


“I don’t give a damn that no one followed you, Arthur Morgan!” you holler. “And I don’t care that you got out just fine this time! I don’t ever wanna hear that you let yourself get left behind during a gunfight so that I have to guess whether or not you’re coming home!”  


He lowers his brows. “They had to leave me behind, Y/N! Strauss got shot in the leg, so John had to get him outta there.”  


“But did Dutch stay with ya? No, he didn’t! He just ran off, letting you clean things up! I swear to God, Arthur! I never wanna hear about you doin’ something like that again! I don’t wanna worry about whether or not you’re okay!”  


Tears are pricking your lower lids, you wipe them away angrily. You always tend to cry when arguing with someone. Arthur looks at you understandingly. He pulls you into a tight hug.  


“I’m real sorry, Y/N,” he says. “Didn’t mean to make ya worry. Just so used to it, ‘s all. I always been looking behind Dutch’s back.”  


“Well, you need to remember it’s not just his back you need to worry about,” you sniff. “Please promise me the next time something like this happens you won’t let yourself get left behind?”  


He chuckles a little. “Honey, ya act like gunfights are somethin’ that happen to us on a weekly basis.”  


You can’t help but smile. “Almost surprised they don’t.”  


“Look at you two!” a thick Irish voice comes from behind you. You let go of Arthur and look back at the grinning face of Sean. “Gettin’ all cute with each other when ol’ Grimshaw’s barkin’ at us to get packed up! Typical ol’ Morgan!”  


“Yeah, you’d know so much ‘bout helpin’ ‘round camp,” Arthur jokes, stepping around you and walking towards Dutch’s tent.  


Grimshaw barrels towards you. A bear would’ve been less intimidating.  


“Ms. Y/L/N!” she shouts, attempting to grab your arm. You dart out of her grasp. “We need to get movin’ and yer too busy yellin’ at Arthur to help! Now get over there and start packin’ up!”  


You run over to your shared tent, grabbing empty boxes from inside the wagon and throwing Arthur’s belongings into it. You turn your head and see him marching away with Charles as Dutch tells them to go find a new camping spot.  


Within hours, the camp is packed up and the horses are hitched to the wagons. You mount up on Rannoch, not wanting to ride in the wagons again the way you did when leaving Blackwater and Coulter. You follow the train along the side, going at a steady trot.  


The train heads east into the Heartlands. You look back one last time at the trees that have provided you cover these past few weeks. You feel somewhat sad to leave it behind. Horseshoe Overlook had been a beautiful place.  


The wagons continue on down the through the plains. You can see in the distance the few buildings that make up Emerald Ranch. The train heads down south where you see the familiar form of Charles galloping towards Dutch’s wagon. You trot up to the front, but you can’t see Arthur anywhere.  


“We found a place, Dutch,” he calls. “Place called Clemens Point.”  


“What happened to Dewberry Creek?” Micah says, joining your side much to your dislike.  


“We weren’t the first ones there,” Charles says. “We found a camp already there. Someone tried to rob them. Arthur’s with one of the families now, takin’ them home. He says he’ll meet us there.”  


“Very good,” Dutch says, whipping the horses on.  


You trot down the trail with the wagons, passing a sign that says “Welcome to the State of Lemoyne”. You notice that the temperature has become warmer, the roads dryer. The trails fade from a soft brown to an almost harsh orange. You see, not too far off, the huge form of Flat Iron Lake. You know that on the far-off shore lies Blackwater.  


After nearly an hour of travel, Charles leads the wagons off the main path and into a large cluster of trees, approaching the lake. The trees thin out, giving way to a large meadow with a thick tree in the middle. You see Arthur standing by the tree, raising his arms up and greeting the entire gang.  


“What ya think?” he calls to Dutch.  


“I love it!” he says, clambering off the wagon. “Think we can really make a home for ourselves here.” He orders Grimshaw and Pearson to start unpacking.  


The next few hours are spent running around the clearing, placing wagons and raising tents. You rather like where Grimshaw has assigned your shared tent, overlooking the silvery lake.  


As the sun begins to set, you stand on the shore watching the burning sun as it dips. Arthur walks over to you, handing you a plate of stew. You thank him.  


“Guess this is our home,” you say.  


“For now, anyways.”


	12. Finding the New South

Warnings: swearing, light smut  


Word count: ~6400

The next few days are spent unpacking the wagons and getting settled around Clemens Point. You love being this close to the giant lake. However, you can’t seem to enjoy the humidity. It’s not as bad as the swamps were, but it makes the heat seem more intense.  


You walk out of the woods, holding a repeater, hand in hand with Arthur after having just come off guard duty. The morning sun already beats down on the dry land. You walk past the horses with him and you hear someone yelling. It sounds like Sadie.  


You and Arthur approach Pearson’s wagon and find the widow pointing a large knife at the cook, who looks like he’s about to grab his butcher knife and go at her.  


“Say whatever you damn well please,” Sadie hisses at Pearson. “But if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to kill somebody!”  


“And if you don’t stop hissing at me, I’m gonna kill you!” he snarls back.  


“What is wrong with you two?” Arthur intervenes, dropping your hand.  


“I ain’t choppin’ vegetables for a livin’!” Sadie slams the point of the knife into the table.  


“Oh, I’m sorry,” Arthur says. “Were there insufficient feathers in yer pillow?”  


“I ain’t lazy, Mr. Morgan! But I ain’t doin’ this!” She walks past him, slamming her shoulder into Pearson and stopping by the other end of the wagon. “My husband and I, we shared the work. I worked in the fields, I can hunt, use a gun. But I tell ya, you keep me here and I’ll skin this fat ol’ coot and serve him for dinner!”  


Pearson jabs a finger at her. “You watch your mouth, you crazy goddamn fish wife!”  


Sadie roars and charges towards him as Arthur grabs her and pushes her back. “Enough! What is the matter with ya, both of ya?”  


Sadie turns away from them, spotting you. She looks as mad as a cougar, but you can sympathize with her. You were once trapped in camp, too, unable to leave for doubts of your loyalty to the gang back in Bison Point. You step forward.  


“Why can’t she come with us, Arthur?” you say, standing between him and her. “I bet she’s just as capable as I am out there.”  


He looks at you; you can tell he’s almost doubtful. He speaks to her again. “You wanna head out there, run with the men? Fine, but we do more than huntin’ out there. We’re hunted.”  


“I ain’t afraid of dyin’, Mr. Morgan,” she spits at him, her face stony.  


“Good,” he turns to Pearson, who looks almost ashamed for his outburst. “Ya need anythin’, Mr. Pearson? Girls and I are gonna take a ride into town.”  
Pearson grabs a list of supplies and hands it to Arthur just as Grimshaw stomps over.  


“Mr. Morgan, I need Y/N here,” she squawks.  


You sigh, feeling defeated. Arthur looks at you and then back to her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Grimshaw, but I’m afraid I already promised Y/N a trip to town. Takin’ Mrs. Adler with me before we lose our cook.”  


You can tell she wants to argue, but then she just shakes her head and marches away, muttering about you leaving camp so often. You whisper your thanks into Arthur’s ear.  


“Oh, Mr. Morgan,” Pearson says, patting his shoulder and handing him an envelope. “Will you deliver this for me?”  


“Of course, Mr. Pearson,” Arthur says, placing the envelope in his satchel. You and Sadie follow him to a wagon and help him hitch two draft horses onto it. You climb into the front, sitting next to Arthur as Sadie sits behind him, collecting herself. Arthur whips the horses and moves on down the trail and into the trees.  


“Let me see that letter,” Sadie says, tapping him on the back.  


“What, you readin’ his mail now?”  


“So robbin’ and killin’, that’s where you draw the line?” she laughs.  


“A’right, fine,” Arthur says, handing her the letter. She carefully opens it, unfolding the letter inside.  


“Dear Aunt Cathy,” she begins in a poor attempt at Pearson’s gruff voice. You and Arthur laugh as she reads his letter.  


“You are somethin’ else,” he laughs as she hands back the letter in the envelope.  


Arthur guides the wagon into a small, dusty town. You see a large sign stating the name of Rhodes. He drives you past a yellow train station and down the main road, stopping outside the general store. He instructs you and Sadie to go inside while he delivers the letter.  


You and the widow walk into the store and hand the clerk Pearson’s shopping list. A shopboy starts piling the items into a box, you help him as Sadie glances through the catalog. She points out different items of clothing, asking to see them. He hands her a bundle of clothing and she disappears outside for a moment to the backyard. She comes back in, wearing them.  


You thank the clerk and start carrying a box outside to the wagon, followed by the shopboy. He shoves the box into the wagon as Arthur approaches the two of you.  


“Here, take that for yerself,” Sadie says to the shopboy as he throws the last sack into the packed wagon, tossing him a silver dollar.  


“Thanks,” he says to her in an ungrateful tone.  


“Well give it back then, Jesus!” she barks as he turns away. “We didn’t ask for his goddamn help.”  


You chuckle as you climb into the front again, accompanied by Arthur. Sadie carefully makes her way over the back, sitting on a large crate. Arthur hands you the reins. “Here, why don’t you drive?”  


You look at him and smile. You haven’t driven a wagon since you were forced to carry Emma, your horrible cousin, around Blackwater. You can still remember how to do it. You flick the reins, urging the horses on down the road, turning them back in the direction you had come.  


“You got everything?” Arthur asks.  


“Think so,” you say.  


“And some new clothes, I see, Mrs. Adler,” he looks behind at her.  


“I can wear what I damn well want. Never see you hasslin’ Y/N for wearing pants. Never seen her in a dress, I don’t think.”  


You smile but don’t say anything as you flick the reins again.  


“‘Sides, I wasn’t some little wife with a flower in my hair bakin’ cherry pies all day,” she says.  


“Well, at least you look the part now,” you say. “Guess you can finally blend in with all us outlaws.”  


Arthur leans back and drapes an arm behind your shoulder as he chuckles.  


“Can only see you sittin’ on yer porch playin’ on the harmonica,” he says.  


“I’ll have you know I used to have one when, well, before my house got burnt down.”  


“Yeah, I’m real sorry ‘bout that.”  


“I don’t want no pity. Just know that no one’s ever takin’ anything from me ever again!” she growls.  


You’ve just left the town of Rhodes behind when two riders trot up to the wagon. Something about them tells you they aren’t trying to pay pleasantries. Arthur seems to sense it as well; he withdraws his arm from you.  


“What you folks up to?” one of the men asks.  


“Just headin’ home,” Arthur replies.  


“You’re in Lemoyne Raider country,” the other man says from Arthur’s side. “Ya need to pay a toll to pass through here.”  


“No, I don’t think so.”  


You put the reins into one hand, grabbing the handle of your sawed-off with the other.  


“How ‘bout you pull over right now?” barks the man next to you.  


“How about this?” Sadie screams, standing up and whipping out a pistol, shooting him in the head. The blast of the gun spooks the horses and they jump into a gallop. You pull on the reins with both hands with all your strength, trying to regain control. You can see ahead a y-intersection with more riders standing on it, rifles pointed at you and the others. One of them stupidly stands directly in front of the horses. You let them go, trampling him as they head into the trees off the path. The wagon comes to a stop and you hop out with Arthur and Sadie and head into cover behind a large boulder.  


Arthur leans against the rock with you, pulling out his two guns. “Damn it, Sadie,” he mutters as he stands up and shoots a few times, kneeling down beside you again. You pull out your shotgun and shoot it twice, taking down two men. You sit back down and reload it.  


“She’s got a fire in her after all,” you say, standing up again and shooting two more men.  


After a few moments of gun fire, the last few Raiders still standing flee, disappearing through the tall grass and into a nearby field. Sadie stands up from her boulder. “Told you I could shoot a gun, didn’t I?” she asks, a proud smile stretching over her face.  


“I don’t remember askin’ you to prove it!” Arthur says angrily, approaching the wagon again. You climb up after him and make to grab the reins, but he grabs them first and directs the horses back onto the path after Sadie sits back down on her crate.  


“We showed them bastards!” she says.  


“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” you say.  


“They was clearly plannin’ to bushwhack us!”  


“Maybe,” Arthur says. “But that’s a lot of mess to make this close to camp.”  


You can see ahead the dead tree that sits beside the trail that winds into Clemens Point.  


“Are you gonna tell Dutch?” she asks.  


“Maybe, maybe not,” he says. You pat his arm, giving him a look. “I won’t mention it unless he brings it up first, a’right?” he adds.  


He leads the wagon down the trail. “Now don’t go ribbin’ Pearson about that letter. And please, no matter what ya do, don’t kill him.”  


Sadie laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it! At least about the letter anyways.”  


Arthur laughs again, pulling the wagon to a stop by the main campfire. “I won’t be givin’ you any mail to post, that’s for shoar.”  


“I just want to get a peak at your journal.”  


“Not a chance.”  


You laugh. “Sadie, even I ain’t seen the inside of his journal. Don’t go holdin’ your breath on that one.”  


The three of you hop out of the wagon as Pearson approaches. You grab a box and take it over to his wagon.  


“I’d like to say I missed our refined conversations, Mrs. Adler,” Pearson grumbles. “But I’d be lyin’.”  


She huffs. “I enjoyed myself out there. Thank you Mr. Morgan and Ms. Y/L/N.”  


“Don’t mention it,” you smile at her.  


“I would ride with you again, Mrs. Adler, if you will ride with me,” Arthur adds.  


“Maybe, if you can prove you can handle yourself out there,” she says cheekily, walking away.  


Arthur laughs as he grabs another box, handing it to Pearson.  


“We got this, Arthur,” he says, nodding his head to Sadie. “You already did me a big favor today.”  


Arthur tips his hat and turns away, approaching you again as you finish untacking the horses and walking them back to the main group. The O’Driscoll, Kieran, stands among them, grooming his pretty red-roan horse. He nods at you nervously. You meet Arthur over by your shared tent.  


“So, what you got planned for today?” you ask.  


“Well, think Dutch wants to go scopin’ Rhodes with Hosea, see if we can find any leads on a score.”  


“Already?”  


“Of course. Money don’t just show up by magic, princess.”  


“That’s not what I meant, Arthur. We only just got here!”  


“Well, like I said, they just wanna see what’s out in the town. Doubt we’ll actually do anythin’ for awhile. ‘Sides, who knows how long we’ll be here. No tellin’ how soon them Pinkertons will find us again. We ain’t gonna be here forever.”  


“Exactly. So let Dutch wait for just a bit and come with me,” you offer him your hand. He takes it, looking skeptical. You pull him on towards the lake. You walk down its sandy banks and away from the camp until the trees block it from sight. You stop by a large log, enjoying the view as the midday sun radiates down onto you.  


You release his hand and begin stripping off your boots.  


“What are you doin’?” he asks, watching you.  


“Oh, come on, Arthur, don’t tell me you ain’t ever done this.”  


Once your feet are exposed to the air, you roll up your jeans and wade into the cool water. You peak over your shoulder to find him standing there, staring at you.  


“C’mon, Arthur. It’s nice.” You raise your arm and hold out your hand to him.  


“A’right, fine,” he says, taking off his boots and rolling up his pants, wading in next to you and grabbing your hand. You look down into the shallow water, watching as tiny little shadows flit around the sand. You realize after a moment that they’re tiny fish, hiding in the safety of the shallows from larger fish.  


Arthur stands behind you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him. You place your hands on his thick arms, allowing yourself to lean against him. The two of you stand in silence, watching a boat in the distance make its way slowly to the far-off shores of Blackwater.

It’s late afternoon, and you stand by Pearson’s fire, dishing yourself up some stew. Arthur had left over an hour ago with Dutch and Hosea to go scouting Rhodes for a lead. You thought they’d be back by now, but you’re not worried.  


You stand by a large tree which usually acts as Uncle’s napping spot, although the man is sitting beside the main campfire playing his banjo. You listen to the sounds of camp, the soft conversations and the crackling fires. You realize in this moment that you’re content.  


You hear something coming from the lake. Echoes of men laughing accompanied by the steady pulse of splashing. You look towards the slightly tilted dock and see Hosea, Dutch and Arthur sat in a boat, paddling their way towards the shore. They become strangely muted as they hit dry land, Arthur hopping out and pulling the boat further up onto shore. He walks away from the boat with Hosea as Dutch calls to him from the back seat of the boat, looking relaxed. Arthur pats Hosea’s back before making his way over to you.  


“You want some dinner?” you ask, showing him your tin plate of half-finished stew.  


“Not now,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, shielding his eyes from you with the rim of his hat. “Y/N, will you come with me?”  


“Where to?”  


“Not far, just into the trees there. Need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”  


He grabs your hand and leads you into the trees.  


“Arthur, I’m not even done eating!”  


He laughs and stops. “Well, hurry up then.”  


You giggle and quickly slurp it up, tossing your plate onto the grass. Arthur squeezes your hand and leads you deeper into the trees until the camp is concealed from sight. He walks you up a rise so you can see the water.  


He stands for a moment, gazing out at the lake. He doesn’t let go of your hand. After a moment, he sits down, gesturing for you to sit in front of him. You comply, settling your back against his firm chest. He wraps his arms around you and sighs deeply. You wonder if he just wanted to come somewhere quiet to try and get some sleep, but didn’t want to be alone.  


After several moments, he starts kissing your neck, his scruffy beard tickling your skin, goosebumps erupting. You giggle. “Arthur, that tickles. What’re you doin’?”  


He takes his hand and turns your face to his. “I’m sorry things went wrong last time you and I tried… to be romantic. I didn’t mean to scare ya.”  


You smile. “Arthur, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. It was nice though, to finally tell someone. To let someone else know… about my pain.”  


He smiles and kisses you, his thumb stroking your cheek.  


“Well, I had an idea. ‘Bout how to show ya that… how I really feel about ya.”  


Your heart suddenly starts pumping fast, you can feel your own pulse in your back, arms and legs. You’ve no idea what he has in mind, other than he wants to be physical with you. He senses your hesitation.  


“Darlin’, d’ya mind if I just try somethin’? If ya don’t like it, any of it, I’ll stop and won’t ever ask again.”  


You swallow hard, feeling nervous. Arthur’s been so patient with you. Last time in the hotel room when he tried to make love to you, you had slapped him and pushed him away, reliving memories with your husband. After you told him everything, why you doubted you could ever enjoy that kind of passion, he's been so gentle and has not brought it up again. You figure you at least owe him the courtesy of trying to help you. You nod your head, feeling yourself shiver.  


He kisses you gently, his tongue flicking out over your lips. His hands come together over your chest, undoing a couple of the buttons. When the gap is large enough, he slides a hand under your shirt, pushing away your chemise and finding your nipple. He flicks it softly, twirling it between his fingers. You sigh loudly, enjoying the sensation to your surprise. He plays with your breast, squeezing and massaging it.  


You feel his other hand slide down your body towards your lower half. His other hand leaves your chest so that both can undo your gunbelt and open your jeans. His hand returns to your breast, tickling the nipple again. The entire time, he’s kissing you. The hand by your jeans slips under your clothes, finding your slit. Despite your inhibitions, you feel you’re already wet. He gently slides his fingers between your folds, rubbing your center, causing you to gasp.  


His rubbing and toying becomes faster, forcing you to break the kiss so you can tilt your head back against his shoulder, moaning. You find yourself spreading your legs, allowing him better access. His index circles your clit gently, making you gasp again. He continues circling and rubbing it, stimulating your core as he kisses your neck. After a moment, you feel him slide one finger into you. You shiver again from the stimulation. His middle follows his index, his thumb circling your sensitive nub all the while.  


The sensations are too much and you feel your hips begin to buck slightly into his hand. You feel his hardened length pressing into your back under his jeans. You take one of your hands, which had been clutching his arm, and start reaching for his cock. Right as you’re about to grab it, to pleasure him, his hand from under your shirt shoots out, grabbing your arm.  


“Nuh-ugh, darlin’,” he growls in your ear, kissing your neck again as you buck into his hand. “This is for you.”  


Your arms fall to your sides. You grab onto clumps of grass, ripping them out as he pushes his fingers into you and pulls them out again. He thrusts his two fingers into your core, still massaging your clit with his thumb. You buck harder and higher when his pace picks up. You start to groan loudly, unable to keep quiet, your breathing becoming fast. 

His fingers press into you harder; faster until you feel something building up inside of your chest, fogging your brain, making even your own thoughts indecipherable. Your stomach tightens.  


“Oh, Arthur,” you yelp, eyes squeezed tight shut, letting your body enjoy the sensations of him pleasuring you. “Arthur, I... I…” You can’t complete the sentence, even though you’ve no idea what you’re trying to say.  


“Let it go, darlin’,” he mutters in your ear. His nose glides from your neck down to your shoulder. You can tell he’s watching you writhe against his hand. He presses harder, his fingers dipping farther into your core. He circles your center again, spreading your folds with his thick hand. You feel yourself tip over the edge, tossing your head back as the waves of pleasure shoot through you, causing your walls to clench tight around his fingers. You almost scream, covering your mouth so as not to be heard. He pulls your hand away just as your voice leaves your mouth.  


“I want the whole world to know how I’m makin’ ya feel right now, baby.”  


He stimulates you again with his fingers. You come apart in his hand. After a few seconds, you begin to relax.  


Arthur pumps his fingers into you once, twice, then gently pulls them out of your core. He slides his hands against your folds before snaking his hand out of your jeans. You feel light and almost dizzy. Your legs shake as your peak simmers down. He kisses your neck again as he cleans off his hand. He closes your jeans and rebuttons your shirt for you, which is probably a good thing. You struggle to move any part of your body, still resting against his.  


“Yer a’right, girl,” he mutters deeply in your ear. You find your voice again.  


“Arthur Morgan,” you gasp. “That was… I didn’t know it could feel like that!”  


He laughs, his chest reverberating against your back. “That weren’t even the full show, sweetheart.”  


You turn your head to look into his face again, resting a sweaty hand against his cheek. “Well, if the version you just gave me was that good, I can only imagine what the real one is like.”  


He chuckles, his hot breath washing over you before he kisses you on the lips gently. You break it for a moment.  


“I really should be paying you back for that.”  


“No,” he mutters, kissing you again. “I wanted to do this for ya. I’ve had enough for now.”  


The two of you relax in one another’s arms in the grass, the sounds of birds and the lapping of the lake on the sand humming in your ears. You still feel light and slightly shaky in Arthur’s arms, but he holds you tightly against him.  


After several moments, he pats your shoulder.  


“A’right, honey. I need to get somethin’ to eat.”  


You suddenly wonder if maybe you’ve offended him with your silence. He had just taught you that physical romance could feel good, and you’d hardly said anything.  


“Arthur, thank you for that,” you say, kissing his firm jaw.  


He smiles and meets your lips with his again. “Of course, darlin’. I just wanted to let ya know how I feel about ya.”  


“I really should return the favor. Show you how I feel about you.”  


“Later, darlin’. Like I said, this was for you.”  


He starts to get up, lifting you to your feet with him, which is a good thing since your legs are still a bit wobbly.  


You walk out of the trees, hand in hand with Arthur, your body light but still shaky. He grins at you cheekily, making you blush and look away. You look around, terrified that people in camp had heard you, but no one gives either of you any attention.  


Arthur pulls you over to the fire and sits down on the log. He squeezes your shoulders gently and then leaves, returning a few moments later with a plate of stew. You lean against his sturdy frame while he eats. Uncle’s at the fire, along with Grimshaw and Charles. You rest your head on Arthur’s shoulder, feeling tired even though the sun has only just set.  


Charles pulls out a harmonica and starts playing a tune. Susan, beating her fingers against her lap, suddenly breaks into song, following the tune. You hear the term “Buffalo gals”, and are pleasantly surprised by how good her voice is. Arthur, having finished his meal, sways you with the tune gently, which isn’t helping you stay awake. Susan finishes the song with a long, low note and your eyes droop. 

The sound of splashing from the lake wakes you up. You sit up in your shared cot, your thighs slightly sore from your activities with Arthur yesterday. You realize that Arthur must have carried you here after you fell asleep last night. You smile at the thought. He was always saying how much of a bad man he was, yet constantly proving himself wrong with acts like this.  


You get up and stretch before walking outside to see what’s making the splashing sound. You see Jack throwing a stick for a dog. Arthur, leaning against a tree, watches as he drinks his coffee. You approach him.  


“Where’d he come from?” you ask, nodding your head to the dog as it plunges into the water again.  


“Don’t know,” Arthur says, putting his arm over your shoulder and pulling you into him. “Dog just showed up. Dutch saw him, guess he’s stayin’ with us.”  


You rest your head on his shoulder while still watching the boy and the dog play. Jack giggles loudly as the dog shakes his soaked fur. “Does he have a name?”  


“Cain. Dutch said he must be a wanderer for doin’ somethin’ bad.”*  


“He’s a dog,” you smile. “I highly doubt he could have done anything bad.”  


Arthur’s chest rumbles with a soft laugh. He offers you his cup of coffee, which you take.  


A distraction comes in the form of Grimshaw, huffing as she marches over to you. You pull away from Arthur as she plants her hands on her hips.  


“Ms. Y/L/N!” she says. You try not to grin, knowing she’s still mad about the fact that you got out of chores yesterday. “I need you to go help the other girls! Go on, now!”  


She ushers you across camp, guiding you over to Pearson’s wagon. You approach the large bin of water and dirty dishes, dipping your hands into the bubbly liquid. You begin to scrub when a shadow crawls across your hands. You look over your shoulder, spotting Micah. He watches you intensely for a moment before approaching you.  


“What you want, Micah?” you spit before he has the chance to open his mouth.  


“Why you always so defensive?” he says, his voice lilting.  


“Only defensive around people I associate with vermin.”  


His sneer turns into a frown. “You better watch your mouth, girlie. Keep talkin’ like that, maybe I’ll come visit your tent one night.”  


You pull your hands out of the water and turn your whole body to him, your finger brushing against the handle of your gun. “Come anywhere near me, Micah, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”  


He snickers, running a hand over his moustache and walking away. You know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, but you can’t help but be disgusted by him. You’ve heard him talk to the other girls in the same manner. You’d also witnessed him antagonizing Charles one day. You had watched, along with several other people, Charles stand up and throw Micah to the ground. Since then, he hadn’t bothered Charles. Maybe you needed to do something similar. Not that you would do it now, but perhaps in the future. 

A few days have passed since Arthur had taken you into the woods. You’ve found yourself remembering what he had done to you, how he made you feel. You’ve become slightly confused about it, however. During all the years you were married to James, not once did you ever feel anything good, either emotionally or physically, when James laid you down. You have to remind yourself that James had forced himself on you, never asking for your consent. Arthur, on the other hand, had made sure you experienced pleasure.  


You return to camp from a mission with Sean. He had invited you earlier in the day to go rob a household from some other crooks. The take had been good and there were only a few men to deal with, most of them drunk, so the work hadn’t even been hard. Not that you’re surprised. Sean most likely wouldn’t have been interested in the job if it didn’t seem easy. Despite that, you had enjoyed doing the job with him; he always knew how to make you laugh.  


You tie Rannoch to the hitching post, seeing Artemis nearby. Arthur’s been gone for a couple of days. You look around but you can’t see him anywhere. You walk into the middle of the camp, scanning your eyes again. Tilly, playing a game of dominos with Hosea, spots you.  


“He’s by the lake,” she says, picking up on who you’re looking for. You offer her your thanks and leave, thinking that he’s probably fishing. You spot him in the area you had gone wading.  


You walk quickly down the sandy beach, waiting for him to spot you. As you get closer, you realize he’s shirtless. He bends down in the water, dipping the black shirt into the water and pulling it out again. You slow down, admiring the view. His firm arms, despite the farmer’s tan. The slope of his chest and stomach.  


He hears your footsteps and looks up, smiling as he sees you. “Hey, darlin’.”  


“What are you doin’?” you ask, stopping just at the edge of the water.  


He holds up his soaked shirt, examining it. You take the opportunity to look at his bare back and admire his broad shoulders, the hardened lines of his spine.  


“Ah, that job of Uncle’s was a damn set-up. Spent the night in some barn ‘fore the law showed up and shot us out of it. Had to smack one of ‘em with a hatchet, got his blood on me.”  


You nod, knowing that the other girls were not appreciative about cleaning blood from clothes.  


“Think I got most of it out,” he says, finally turning to you. You can’t help your eyes sliding down from his face to his body. His broad chest has just the right amount of hair, glinting red and blonde in the midday sun. Your face reddens as you follow his treasure trail, making you look away.  


“What you lookin’ at?” he says, smiling mischievously.  


“Nothing,” you say, even though you know you’re beet red. He laughs, stepping out of the water. He wrings his shirt out again and then fans it harshly a few times. Once he’s deemed it dry enough, he slips it on back over his head. The damp fabric clings to his firm body, which you don’t mind in the slightest. He side-steps you and walks over to a boulder where he had laid out his red leather vest. He puts it on and starts to button it up. You spot a gold, metal star on his chest, which says “sheriff”.  


“Sheriff?” you say, sliding a finger over the star. He puts his hat back on and looks down.  


“Oh, somethin’ Dutch came up with,” he sighs heavily. He offers you his arm as you both start to walk back to camp. He quickly tells you about two warring families in the town of Rhodes: the Greys and the Braithwaites, how they’ve been at odds with one another for longer than anyone in town can remember. He tells you how Dutch wants to ingratiate into both families and maybe come out of it with some old Confederate gold. The Greys also happen to be the lawmen in Rhodes, so Dutch had gotten himself and Arthur temporarily deputized.  


You walk back into camp, Cain bounding past you and nearly tripping Arthur. He laughs at the dog, who acts as though nothing happened. You can tell Arthur likes the dog, and you recall the photo on the side of the wagon that acts as your shared tent, the one showing a floppy-eared dog.  


“Who’s dog was that?” you ask. “The one you have a photo of?”  


He looks at you and rubs his chin. “That was Copper. Dog I had not long after I… after Dutch and Hosea found me. He was a good dog.”  


Arthur guides you over to the round table close to the lake, which is currently empty. You sit down, your hand still in his. “What happened to him?”  


“Just got old,” he says flatly. “Had him for about 8 years. Never lost the puppy in him. Great huntin’ companion, too. Caught more ducks than anything else.”  


You smile at him as he reminisces his past. His eyes are far away as he stares off into camp. “To be honest, Y/N,” he says. “If… If I was ever to get out of this life, this gang, I’d want another one.”  


“Why couldn’t you get one now?” you ask sadly. Now that you’re a member of this gang, these people you’ve begun to see as family, you can’t imagine being anywhere else.  


“Ah, it’s too dangerous for a dog, I think, darlin’. Right now, anyways. Maybe someday, I’ll have another one.”  


“How did Dutch and Hosea find you?” you ask, never having heard the story before.  


“Ah, ‘s long story, darlin’,” he squeezes your hand.  


“I got all night, Arthur.”  


By the campfire, Uncle and Sean have taken up a drinking song, their loud voices carrying over to you.  


He laughs, standing up. “Let me take ya somewhere quieter and tell ya.” He doesn’t let go of your hand as he walks you to the outskirts of the camp, sitting down at the base of a tree. He offers you his lap so you can lean your back against his chest. You do so, enjoying how firm he is against you. He wraps his arms around you, watching the setting sun.  


“My mother,” he says. “She was a good woman. Smart, funny. My pa was a right old bastard, drink had a mean hold on him. He beat her, beat me. When I was a kid, my mother got sick. Watched her die. My pa acted like he barely noticed her absence. Few years later, he came home from the saloon with a bullet hole in his stomach. He lived for a couple of days. When he died, I had to leave my home. My pa had borrowed a lot of money from some fellers in town, knew they’d come soon to take the house for his debts.  


“I went off into town, figurin’ I could, I don’t know, get a job as a stable boy or newspaper boy. Couldn’t find one though. Everyone I asked either didn’t have a place for me or refused to give one to a ‘no-good homeless kid’. Ended up stealin’ food from garbage cans, pickin’ people’s pockets. Doin’ whatever I could to survive. Slept in alleyways. All I owned was the clothes and this ol’ hat of my pa’s.”  


He takes off his hat and inspected it briefly before setting it down next to him. You grab one of his arms and run your thumb across his skin.  


“One day, there was some feller in the town square, spoutin’ off somethin’ that had caught lot of people’s interests. I snuck into the crowd, swiping from people’s pockets. Saw this tall feller in the back of the crowd in a real fancy suit, figured he’d have a lot of money or a nice watch or somethin’. I snuck up behind him and put my hand in his coat pocket.”  


You can tell by his voice he’s smiling.  


“This big ol’ hand swung down on my shoulder. Looked up at the guy, big ol’ black moustache. He and the feller I was tryin’ to rob pulled me down some alleyway. Thought they were gonna beat me up or shoot me or somethin’. Instead, the one I tried to rob offered me somethin’. Told me I could come with him and his friend, start a new life, and they’d teach me how to be a proper crook. That was Hosea and Dutch. I been with ‘em ever since. That was a little more than 20 years ago.”  


You squeeze his arm as the sun dips below the horizon, the water of the lake rippling its farewells. You tilt your head up to look at Arthur, his eyes finally returning to the present. He looks down at you and places a delicate kiss on your lips. You reach up and swipe your thumb across the scar on his chin.  


“How’d an ugly ol’ outlaw like me get so lucky to be with someone as amazin’ as you, darlin’?”  


Your smile fades. “Arthur, is that really how you see yourself?”  
He huffs a bit, but you can tell by his eyes that he does see himself that way. You sit up and turn towards him.  


“Arthur, you’re not any of those things. Okay, maybe you are an outlaw. But you’re not that old, I mean you’re only 36. At least you’re not Uncle. How long has that man been alive?”  


He laughs. “Ah, he was old even when I was a boy!”  


“Exactly!” you smile. “And as far as looks go, well, you’re far from ugly. In fact, you’re one of the most attractive men I’ve seen in a long time.”  


He chuckles, looking down. “I know the company you’ve kept for the last few years, darlin’. Don’t sound like you got much to compare me to.”  


“That don’t matter,” you say, putting your hand to his cheek and lifting his face up so he has to look at you. “You’re beautiful to me, Arthur. Isn’t that enough?”  


He smiles, his eyes sparkling as he looks into yours. His arms tighten around you, pulling you into him. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, darlin’.”  


You lean into his neck, breathing him in. Everything about this moment is perfect. “I love you, Arthur Morgan,” you mumble into his skin.  


His arms loosen and his hands grab your shoulders gently, pulling you away.  


“What did you say?” he looks at you hard. You wonder if you’ve made him angry.  


“I… I said I love you.”  


He stares at you for the next several seconds, his eyes dancing between yours. His face softens; it’s almost like he can’t believe what he heard. Finally, his face cracks into a smile.  


“Well, I’ll be damned, sweetheart. I… I been wantin’ to say that to ya for the longest time.”  


You blush. “So why didn’t you?”  


“I didn’t think the feeling would be mutual.”  


“Arthur,” you whisper, running your thumb across his cheekbone. You lean in and kiss him, feeling his hands wind into your hair. Your hand slides up to his chest, digging just under his collar to his clavicle. He hums loudly at your touch. After a moment, you break apart and lean your head against his shoulder again, watching the sun finish setting beyond the distant horizon.


	13. The Sweetheart Tree

Word count: ~8200  


Warnings: so much fluff!, angst, smut  


You’ve been at Clemens Point with the gang for a few weeks now. Dutch has gotten quite involved with the two most prominent families in Rhodes, the Grays and the Braithwaites. You’ve learned, via information brought by Arthur, that the sheriff Lee Gray is a drunkard and quite soft-minded. Easy enough to fool. The Braithwaites, as reported by Hosea, are a much tougher sell. Their matriarch, Catherine, is an older woman with multiple sons. According to Hosea, back during the war, they were heavily involved with the Confederate troops, and the ending of the war with the Union win hit them hard, turning them to sell illegal amounts of moonshine in order to keep up their name. The Grays had already taken many efforts in order to shut down their alcohol business, but with little impact on the Braithwaites.  


Arthur returns in the afternoon, closely followed by a heavily-sweating Dutch. They had left earlier that day to go with Sheriff Gray on a job in order to better earn the Grays’ trust. You see Arthur hop off of Artemis and Dutch walk up to him, speaking words and patting him on the shoulder. You can’t hear anything they say to one another, being over with the other girls doing laundry. You see Dutch walk away from Arthur, a proud smile on his face. Arthur looks after him curiously, then he spots you. His face splits into a massive grin and he walks quickly over to you. You put down your sewing tools and meet him halfway. He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug.  


“Ah, I missed ya, darlin’,” he says.  


“Arthur, you only saw me this morning. You’re acting like we ain’t seen each other in days.”  


“What? So I can’t miss my girl for even a few hours?” he says playfully.  


You lean back from him and grin. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I missed you, too.”  


Sean struts back, huffing. “You two!” he snides jokingly. “Always wrappin’ ‘round each otter! If it gets any hotter ‘tween the two of you, we’ll soon have ‘noder Jack runnin’ round!”  


He walks away, chuckling, but it’s enough to turn your face red. Of course, no one else in the camp knows about you being infertile, and you certainly hope none of them know about what Arthur did to you in the woods a few days ago.  


Arthur drops his arms, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Damn it, Sean,” he says.  


“He knows how to ruin a moment, that’s for sure,” you smile.  


Lenny strolls past you. You can tell he’s just come off of guard duty. He pats Arthur’s shoulder briefly.  


“Hey Arthur, when you get a chance, I need to talk to ya about somethin’.” You can tell by the grin on his face it’s something he’s proud and excited about.  


“Shoar,” Arthur says, his hands going to his gun belt. “What is it, kid?”  


Lenny looks around, almost as though he’s nervous about anyone overhearing. He looks at you, then shrugs his shoulders. He beckons for you and Arthur to follow him, taking you to the edge of the lake. He turns to you, the glint in his eye sharper than it was before.  


“I was talkin’ to some of the colored folk in Rhodes,” he says hurriedly. “They said there’s a gang of fools in the swamps east of here who seem to think the war never ended.”  


“The Civil War?” you ask. You hardly know much about the Civil War yourself, being from Blackwater and coming around long after the war was won.  


“Yeah,” he says. “Apparently it’s still ragin’ in these fools’ minds thirty years later. But word has it these fellers are also weapons dealers. Sounded like they might be sittin’ on a decent pile of cash.”  


Arthur looked at him optimistically, his hand running over the scruff on his face. “With nothin’ but a bunch of crazies guarding it, huh?” he says. He nods his head. “Well, sounds like it might be worth takin’ a look.”  


Lenny grins wide and hurries over to the horses. Arthur turns to you.  


“Can I come?” you ask, hopeful.  


“I don’t know, darlin’,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Probably gonna be dangerous. Might be gettin’ shot at.”  


“All the more reason for me to come,” you say. You’re determined not to be left behind while Arthur tries to get himself killed again. “You already know I can handle a gun. I can hold myself during a gun fight, I’ve already been in a few.”  


He sighs then nods. “A’right, fine. But you have to promise to do everythin’ I say, no arguin’, ya got it?”  


You nod your head once, feeling proud. He leads you over to the horses, then hands you a carbine repeater, instructing you to put it into your saddle.  


“I know all ya got is that shotgun,” he explains as you mount Rannoch. “That only works well in close range. Most likely, we’ll be shootin’ from a distance.”  


You nudge your calves into Rannoch, urging him to follow Lenny’s horse. He calls back to you and Arthur. “Fellers in town said they’re holed up in a big ol’ mansion called Shady Belle.”  


You follow the boys out of the trees and onto the main road. During the ride, you hear Lenny and Arthur talking about how differently people judge others in the South, particularly towards colored people. It’s something you’ve thought little about yourself. During your childhood, Blackwater had its fair share of colored people, mostly Mexicans and Native Americans, sometimes Asian workers from the railroad being built out west would come by. African Americans, however, were few and far between. You have noticed since arriving in Lemoyne that there are quite a bit more of them, not that it makes much difference to you.  


After several moments of cantering down the road, the scenery begins to change slightly from the hot, dry orange dirts of Rhodes to thick, dark mud. The trees grow mossy, the air becomes thicker. Lenny leads you both down a heavily overgrown road. Far ahead in the distance, you see some sort of building.  


“We should hide the horses here,” he says, heading a few yards off the trail and hopping off. You and Arthur follow his lead. “You got a scoped rifle, Arthur?” he asks.  


Arthur pulls the sniper rifle he had used during the job you had done with him and John to steal the sheep in Valentine. You grab the carbine he had given you. On either side of the trail sits a crumbling stone wall. It had obviously been part of a grand estate a long time ago. Near it lies a slightly crooked sign saying “Shady Belle”.  


You and Arthur hide behind the wall on one side of the path, Lenny behind the other. Arthur looks through the scope on his gun, pointing it ahead of him. You stand behind him and peak around him, placing your hands on his shoulders.  


Ahead you can see a large mansion sitting on a large plot of land, a broken and empty fountain in front of it. Thirty or forty years ago, this house must have been a grand and extraordinary place, home to a wealthy family. Now ivy crawls the dirt-spattered walls and columns, most of the windows have broken panes. You make out near the brown river a slightly crumbled gazebo near a large tree. Between the fountain in front of the house and the wall acting as your cover, there’s several barracks made of sandbags. Had this place once been a battlefield during the war?  


On one side of the house, near an old shack, sit several tents. Men walk around them, going around the piles of crates. You see a large carriage, two draft horses already hooked up to it. Several men stand around it, piling boxes into it. Arthur starts to point out areas of the most interest, including a gatling gun on the upper porch of the house and several boxes of dynamite near the front door. He and Lenny come up with a plan for him to shoot the dynamite.  


Arthur begins counting down from five. You take your spot close to him, making sure the carbine in your hands is loaded. He reaches one and he fires his gun, which is followed by a massive explosion. You hear several men start to yell, the sound of them shooting back. Lenny dashes out from his spot and goes to the sandbags, yelling at them. You’re about to join him when Arthur pushes you back.  


“Hold on, there’s a guy on the gatling!” he says.  


You can hear the gatling gun fire out multiple rounds quickly. Arthur aims and fires, the gatling gun goes silent. He swings the scoped rifle onto his shoulder, pulling off his Springfield rifle. “C’mon,” he says.  


You follow him quickly out into the open. You dart behind a barrack and then look up over it, pointing your gun. You fire it at several men, most of them going down. You and your companions fight the Raiders for several minutes, occasionally moving closer to the house as more of them fall.  


The fighting ends as quickly as it began. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, looking around at all the dead men.  


“Let’s look around,” Lenny says. “Gotta have their guns or cash stashed around somewhere.”  


You and Arthur begin searching the camp. You peak into the last tent, finding nothing. You’re beginning to wonder if the weapons might be inside the house itself when Arthur calls you and Lenny over. He stands in the carriage that the Raiders had been loading. He opens a box and pulls out a handsome rifle. He inspects it and then hands it to you.  


“Here,” he says. “Why don’t you keep that one?”  


You take it from him and look over the bolt action rifle. You aim it quickly, making sure the sights on it is accurate, then swing it over your shoulder. Lenny and Arthur sit down in the front, you sit on the box behind Arthur. He flicks the reins, guiding the horses away from the crumbling mansion.  


Arthur guides the horses out of the thick trees and onto the main trail. Suddenly three riders show up.  


“Hey, what’re those fellers doin’ with our wagon?” one of them says. He points his gun at Arthur, ordering him to stop. Arthur pulls the horses to a halt, you shift your hands over your new rifle, preparing for another fight.  


“We just had some business dealings with your partners there,” Arthur says cheekily.  


“No colored man be stupid enough to go near our place!” another one shouts. “Kill ‘em!”  


“What about the girl?” the last one asks.  


“Kill the men, keep the girl,” the first one says. Arthur whips out his rifle and shoots two of the men quickly, Lenny takes down the third. They had been so quick you’ve only begun to stand up. The men fall off their horses, dead. Arthur flicks the reins again, carrying on. He reaches back and pats your shoulder as you sit down, making sure you’re alright.  


“Guess we out of the woods now, so to speak,” Lenny says, throwing his rifle over his shoulder.  


“You did good, kid,” Arthur says.  


“I know Sean’s been bringin’ in a lot lately,” Lenny says. “I just wanted to have something to show.”  


“Sean’s a loud mouth and a braggart,” Arthur says flatly. “Don’t worry about what he does.”  


“I like him,” Lenny says.  


“Well, I do too, against my better judgment. But just you worry about you, a’right? Me and Dutch, and everyone else who counts, we notice. We know what you do for this gang. Keep it up and you’re gonna start seeing things change for you.”  


Arthur guides the wagon back to camp, pulling it to a stop near the hitching post. As Lenny stands up, Arthur stops him, offering his hand. “I always enjoy riding’ with you, kid,” he smiles.  


Lenny thanks him and hops off the wagon. You get up and start pushing the box of rifles to the edge with some difficulty. Lenny sees you struggling and comes up.  


“Don’t worry about that, Y/N,” he says, approaching the back. “Might as well leave ‘em there, be easier to sell. I’ll take care of ‘em.”  


You shrug your shoulders and hop out of the wagon. “You did good,” Lenny says, patting your shoulder.  


“You, too. Y’know how to fight real good, Lenny,” you say. He offers you a wide grin.  


You spot Arthur standing near the draft horses, patting a large dun. He gestures for you to follow him. He leads you to Pearson’s fire, scooping out some stew and offering it to you. When you both have your dinner, you go and sit on the banks of the lake, watching the sun set into the firey water. When your stew is gone, you remain sitting there with Arthur, his hand wrapped around yours. 

A few days have gone by since the raid on Shady Belle. You lie in Arthur’s cot, the blanket draped over you. Someone shakes you awake. You crack open your eyes; it’s still nearly dark. Arthur hovers over you.  


“Darlin’, you awake?” he asks.  


“I am now,” you groan. You turn over, wanting to go back to sleep. He pats your shoulder again.  


“Will you come with me, sweetheart?” he says. You look at him, furrowing your brows. “Come see the sunrise, darlin’. They’re somethin’ else here.”  


With some complaining, you swing your legs up and start putting on your boots. Arthur smiles widely the entire time.  


“Glad to see you’re so awake already,” you grumble at him, standing up.  


“We’ll get ya some coffee, how’s that?” he says, taking your hand. He walks you through the camp, stopping at Pearson’s fire to pour you a cup. He hands it to you and leads you on. He takes you to the eastern edge of camp, overlooking a cove. The sun hasn’t yet risen, but the horizon above the trees on the opposite shore is turning from blue to pink.  


You yawn heavily, drinking your coffee quickly. You turn Arthur to face you so you can bury your face into his chest. “Wake me when it comes up,” you mumble into his shirt. You feel and hear him laugh as he wraps his arms around you. After a few moments, he pats your back gently.  


“Look, darlin’.”  


You open your eyes and see the sun rising, the sky turning various shades of orange, and red. A few wispy clouds spatter the sky, their forms burning to gold. It really is a beautiful sight.  


“Okay, you’re forgiven for getting me up so early,” you say. His chest rumbles again as he chuckles.  


After a while, he takes your hand and starts taking you back into camp. Bill, Lenny and Karen stand around an empty wagon.  


“Morgan!” Bill yells to him.  


Arthur looks at you. “I’ll catch up with ya in a minute, darlin’.”  


You nod and let go of his hand, going into camp alone. You head over to your shared tent, strapping on your gunbelt and grabbing your hat. Arthur walks quickly over to you, holding a folded black coat in his arms.  


“What’s going on?” you ask.  


“Ah, Karen, Bill and Lenny wanna hit up the bank in Valentine. Say it’s unfinished business.”  


“Can’t they take John or Charles?” you plead. You’ve been hoping to go on a hunting trip with Arthur.  


“I wish, but they say they want me there. When I get back, you and I can go.”  


He trades his green shotgun coat for the old, faded black duster, positioning it over his shoulders. You see Karen walk through camp in a fancy magenta dress. Arthur kisses you quickly before heading out.  


“Be careful!” you call to him. He waves at you, hopping onto his horse and running through the trees after the others.  


You spend the next couple of hours doing chores, but you’re so pent up you decide to head out on your own for a bit. You mount Rannoch and head out of camp, surprised that no one tries to stop you. You guess they’re all too busy waiting for Arthur and the others to take too much notice of you.  


When you reach the main trail, you almost turn to go into Rhodes, but then you change your mind. This state is too muggy and warm for your taste. You crave the sight of mountains and thick pine forests again. You head north towards the Heartlands.  


Within a relatively short time, you spot in the distance Emerald Ranch. You head towards it, needing to stop at the Fence to sell a few things. You hitch Rannoch and walk over to Seamus, the man who runs the discrete operations. You trade a necklace, two bracelets and a couple of rings with him, coming out $30 dollars richer. You thank him and are just about to head out when you hear two men on the other side of the road discussing a wagon.  


“Supposed to be here later today!” one of the men says excitedly.  


“Didn’t you order that only three weeks ago?” the other says.  


“Sure, but the catalog promised speedy delivery! Paid premium for it, too.”  


“What was it again? A pistol?”  


“Yeah! Gold double-action revolver! Been wantin’ one since I was a boy.”  


“How’d you know it’s gonna be here today? What if the wagon’s late?”  


The man speaking about the revolver pulls a paper out of his back pocket. “Got a letter from the stage company. Said they have a delivery from Annesburg, then they’re comin’ to Emerald Ranch. This company don’t mess around neither. They get things done quick.”  


You head off towards Rannoch, thinking quickly. You dash off down towards camp, hoping you can find someone fast enough to do this job with. You’ve never robbed a wagon or a stage before; you don’t know the first thing about it. When you get to camp, you see Artemis, Arthur’s giant warhorse.  


You hitch Rannoch next to her and jog into camp, looking for him. He approaches you from Dutch’s tent, looking sweaty but untouched.  


“There ya are!” he says.  


“How’d it go?” you ask.  


“Fine, just fine. Had to shoot our way out of Valentine again.”  


You put your hands on your hips, getting ready to shout at him again. He puts his hands up. “Don’t worry, sweetheart! Bill, Lenny and Karen were with me the whole time! I was never alone.”  


“Well, good. Now, if you’re not too tired, I have something for you.”  


He grabs your hand, walking with you towards the horses while you explain the wagon you’d heard about. When you finish, he rubs his chin thoughtfully.  


“Well, what do you think?” you ask. “Delivery wagons often have lots of goods. Could be profitable.”  


“Sounds like it might be worth the effort,” he says. “‘Sides, I been meaning to teach ya how to rob wagons and stages for a while. Just didn’t want to do a bank stage to be your first. But delivery wagons are easier. Less guarded.”  


Strauss suddenly walks over, looking agitated.  


“Herr Morgan,” he says quickly.  


“Herr Strauss?”  


“I need a favor of you involving a debt.”  


Arthur starts shaking his head. “I told ya, Strauss. I ain’t doin’ that no more!”  


“Please, Herr Morgan, it’s involving that family Micah vent after.”  


Arthur glared at him. “What? Micah end up stealin’ half your money?”  


“No, no. Turns out he beat the lender to death, but never retrieved the money. So now, naturally, the debt is on his wife.”  


Arthur shakes his head again. “No, I ain’t doin’ yer dirty work no more, Strauss. Ask any of the other fellers here. Or have Micah do it again.”  


“And have him kill the whole family?” Strauss says, looking shocked. “No, Herr Morgan. Dead debtors don’t have a good habit of paying. Besides, none of the others have your… vigor.”  


“Strauss, I ain’t doin’ this anymore! How many times I gotta say it?!”  


“Just this last one, please? I’ll give you 10% more.”  


Arthur sighs heavily, brushing his hand over his chin.  


“Fine. But this is the last one, Strauss. From now on, if ya start lendin’ money out, someone else can beat it out of ‘em.”  


Strauss sniffed loudly. “If that’s what you have decided, Herr Morgan, then so be it. Thank you again.”  


Strauss turns to leave without even giving you a glance.  


“I thought he was a snake when I first met him,” you say. “Now I know he’s a snake.”  


“Yeah, ain’t exactly shoar why Dutch picked him up.”  


He hops on Artemis as you mount Rannoch. The two of you gallop up into the Heartlands and past Emerald Ranch. You’re not too familiar with what’s east of Emerald Ranch, so Arthur takes the lead. He takes you northeast, stopping on a small slope looking over a T-intersection in the road. In the distance, you can hear the roaring of the Kamassa River.  


“Wagon will probably stop through here,” Arthur says, putting a black bandana over his face. You realize you don’t have anything like that, and you’re just about to ask if he has a spare when he hands you a green one. You tie it quickly around your head, hiding most of your face. You tip your hat slightly to shade it better.  


“You got that new rifle I gave ya?” he asked.  


You pull out your bolt action, pointing the barrel towards the sky. He nods approvingly, grabbing his Springfield.  


You both wait patiently for nearly a quarter of an hour. You’re starting to worry that maybe you missed it when you hear the sound of several horses coming your way from the direction of the river.  


“Get ready, sweetheart,” Arthur instructs. “Just follow my lead, and don’t use names! If you need to address me, call me Mr. M.”  


You agree and take a deep breath. Coming around the bend in the trail, you see a wagon driven by four large horses. On the stage is a driver and one other man beside him, holding a rifle.  


When they get closer, Arthur kicks Artemis into action. You make Rannoch follow her, holding on tight to your rifle.  


Arthur shouts, pointing his Springfield at the driver. “Stop the damn coach!”  


You follow his lead and point your rifle at the man accompanying the driver. The driver pulls the stage to a stop and they both put their hands up.  


“We got nothing important in here, mister!” the driver yells. “We’re just a delivery wagon!”  


“Get off the damn wagon!” Arthur shouts. The two obey him and hop off, standing beside the trail. Arthur dismounts Artemis and approaches the wagon.  


“Keep an eye on them, miss,” he says to you. You aim your gun at the two men, watching them carefully.  


Just as Arthur is about to hop into the back of the wagon, you see the driver’s companion point his rifle at his back. You shoot your bolt action, the bullet striking the rifle and knocking it from his hand. The two men scream and bolt off into the trees.  


Arthur turns and watches them run. He tips his hat up slightly and puts his hands on his hips. “That was pathetic,” he says, pulling off his bandana. You do the same.  


“I think you mean easy,” you say, hopping off Rannoch.  


You climb into the wagon after Arthur and start going through different boxes and chests. He pulls out a gold double-action revolver with a white handle. You see the barrel and trigger of the gun have been delicately engraved, a doe carved into the white handle.  


“That’s a fine pistol,” he says. He hands it to you. “You should have more than just yer sawed-off.”  


You take it and admire the gun, then smile. You’re sure this is the same gun those two fools in Emerald Ranch were talking about.  


“We can get ya an offhand holster next time we’re in town,” Arthur goes on as he searches through more crates. You place the pistol into your satchel and search with him. By the time you’re finished searching, you both come up with several items of jewelry, some liquor and cans of food, horse supplies, and even a case of gold leaf dishes. You haul your ill-gotten gains onto the horses and dash away from the scene before anyone can find you.  


“Should we head to Emerald Ranch and sell these?” you ask.  


“No. Let’s give it a few days. Pretty soon people will hear the delivery wagon’s been robbed, folks will be lookin’ for anyone selling these things.”  


You nod your head, figuring Arthur knows best about this sort of thing. He turns to you, holding his loot to you.  


“Darlin’, I gotta take care of that thing for Strauss. Will you take this back to camp?”  


“You want me to come with you?”  


He looks at you, his face has grown dark. “No, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to see me like that. I’ll meet ya at camp.”  


You nod sadly, taking his loot. “Arthur, promise me this’ll be the last one.”  


“I promise.”  


He kicks Artemis into a canter, heading west towards Valentine. You watch him for a moment, feeling like your heart is about to break for him. You can tell he hates the work; beating and scaring people for a few bucks.  


You arrive back at camp and donate several pieces of jewelry, some liquor and cans of food to the camp. Dutch watches you and nods approvingly when you finish. You wish you could think of something to give Arthur to lift his spirits. You’re sure he’s going to be miserable when he returns. You would be, after all, were you in his shoes.  


You sit on your shared cot and pull out your journal, running your fingers fondly over the stamped leather. You open up to a blank page and do your best to draw an image of Copper, his dog. You spend a long time on it, trying to get the shapes and shading just right. After a while, you tear the page out, wishing it was better and that you had Arthur’s skill. You fold it neatly and put it on his pillow for him to find later. You walk over to the campfire and sit down, joining Javier and Sean in a song.  


After nearly an hour, Arthur returns, hitching Artemis next to Rannoch. You watch him walk over to his tent, but then he disappears from your view. If you had been there, you would’ve seen him open the drawing and stare at it for several moments, a gentle smile creep over his face. You would’ve also seen him take the drawing and pack it into a small box you had never seen before, one that held his most valuable possessions, including his mother’s ring.  


He plops down on the log next to you, draping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you into a hug.  


“Thank you for the drawin’, darlin’,” he says, kissing your temple.  


You’re a little surprised at how bold he’s being. He’s rarely this affectionate with you in front of the others, especially when Sean’s around. You can feel yourself blushing.  


“You’re welcome,” you say.  


Uncle sits down on the chair by the fire and starts singing, Javier strums the tune in his guitar and Sean joins in. After a line or two, Arthur starts up as well. Once again, you don’t know the words, so you just listen.  


They finish their song with a bout of laughter, Sean carries on the longest. When he stops, he turns to you. “Now why don’t ya ever join in, Ms. Y/L/N? I don’t think I’ve ever heard ya even hum a tune before!”  


You blush, taken a bit by surprise. “I don’t know any of these songs.”  


“What?” he says loudly. “That’s ridiculous. I come from across the pond in Ireland, and I’ve heard them songs! Me da…”  


“Not with the da again!” Arthur groans, his arm sliding down so his hand settles on your hip.  


“Fine! Fine, I’m just sayin’ how come ya never heard t’ese songs before?”  


You shrug your shoulders. “Where I come from, my family wasn’t very musical.”  


That’s a lie. Your mother used to sing all the time when she was working. You used to sing, too, when you were really happy. You haven’t sung since your grandmother died. Since joining the gang, you’ve found yourself humming more often, but never singing. Besides, the last person you want to sing in front of is Sean MacGuire.  


"Oh, come on!" he says, holding his arms up and out. "I bet you know a few songs!"  


“Well, go on, then,” Uncle says, taking a swig from his beer bottle. You blush harder as Charles sits down, pulling out his harmonica.  


“Seriously,” you say almost pleading. “You don’t want to hear me sing. My cousin heard me humming once and said she was surprised all the animals in a ten-mile radius weren’t dead.”  


“Yeah, well, yer cousin was a real piece o’ work,” Arthur says. “Sounds like she needed a good kick in the rear, ya ask me. Now come on. I bet ya have a nice voice.”  


You put your face in your hands, terrified. What you had said about your cousin mocking you was true. You had been humming one time while trying to teach her how to garden. She had demandingly asked you to stop, saying your voice was the most hideous thing she’d ever heard. Ever since then, you’d lost all confidence in your singing abilities.  


“Tell us,” Sean says. “Name a song y’know and I bet Charles or Javier knows da tune! They’ll start you off just fine.”  


You bite your lip again. The pressure from the others is growing, and you know they won’t let up until you sing, even if you don’t want to. You remember a song your grandmother taught you when you were young. It’s short, but you always liked it. You look over at Charles and Javier, doubting either of them will know it.  


“Either of you know the Sweetheart Tree?” you ask tentatively.  


Charles shakes his head, but Javier smiles. “Ah, I think I heard that one being played by a street beggar playing for money! Does it go like this?” he plays a few lines on his guitar.  


You nod your head. “That’s the one!”  


“Well, go on then! Prove your sour ol’ cousin wrong!” Sean yells.  


You take a deep breath and stare at the grass, flickering yellow and white with the reflections of the fire. You hesitatingly begin.

They say there’s a tree in the forest  


A tree that will give you a sign  


Come along with me  


To the Sweetheart Tree  


Come and carve your name next to mine

Your voice begins to grow in strength as you go on, caught up in the tune of Javier’s guitar and the memories of your grandmother, when you were young, happy and innocent. You’re surprised you remember it so easily as you move to the last bit.

They say if you kiss the right sweetheart  


The one you’ve been waiting for  


Big blossoms of white will burst into sight  


And your love will be true evermore

You finish, the last note carrying on a bit. Javier does a fancy strum on his guitar before letting it go silent. The men around the fire sit silent for a few seconds before Sean’s face splits into a wide grin.  


“Where’s your cousin live, Y/N?” he says.  


“Why?” you ask.  


“‘Cause I’d like to give her a good kick in the pants meself!”  


“If ya think yer voice is bad,” Arthur chuckles. “Ya got impossibly high standards, sweetheart.”  


You blush as Uncle jumps in. “I once heard this lovely maiden sing in a show. Sung some silly song about how great Saint Denis was. Think her name was Robin… something. Think she was Polish. Anyways, her voice was good and real nice, but everyone could tell she had training. I don’t think I ever heard someone untrained sing that well.”  


“Oh my God,” you say, putting your face into your hands again. You definitely regret singing in front of them now. The praise is almost worse than the pressure. You hear Charles laugh briefly before he starts playing a tune on his harmonica. You’re glad he’s playing, the others are starting to hum along with him. After a few moments, Arthur gently squeezes your hip.  


“C’mon, darlin’,” he whispers. “Come with me.”  


He takes your hand and leads you off towards the water of the lake. You think he’s going to start talking to you when you reach the shore. Instead, he pulls you into a tight hug, burying your face into his chest. You feel his cheek rest on your head. You don’t mind this, not at all. He smells familiar; comforting. You fold your arms around his waist.  


“This is nice,” you mumble. “But what’s it for?”  


“Just because I can and I want to, a’right?” he says quietly. After a moment, he adds in. “I’d love to hear ya sing more.”  


“You’re sweet, Arthur, but you’re a bad liar.”  


He takes your shoulders and pulls you away for a moment. “Ain’t lyin’ to ya, love. I ain’t never lied to ya. I don’t think you realize how beautiful you are and how much I appreciate ya.”  


You blush and look down, biting your lip. You want to believe him so bad, this man who has had a profound effect on your life and you love so deeply, but you can’t shake the nagging voice in the back of your head. The one that keeps telling you that you’re impossible to love.  


“Give it time, Arthur,” you mutter. “Eventually, you’re gonna get tired of me. I’m used to it, though, so don’t worry about hurting me.”  


His finger comes up under your chin, pushing your face up gently so he can stare into your eyes.  


“I ain’t never gonna get tired of ya,” he says sadly. “I wish ya could see how wonderful ya are. Everyday I’m with ya, I love ya more and more.”  


He leans down and kisses you gently, his hand settling on your back, his other one behind your neck. He pulls away and whispers in your ear. “I’m gonna tell ya everyday how beautiful you are until you finally believe it, then I’m gonna keep on tellin’ ya. I love you, Y/N.”  


You feel your eyes sting with tears. You press your forehead into his, looping your arms around his neck. He kisses your forehead and then pulls your head into the crook of his neck, his arms nearly crushing you with how tight he holds you as you listen to the steady beating of his heart.  


You stare off into the water, watching the reflections of the moon break apart and shatter on its surface. You can still hear the others from the fire talking, the sound of Javier’s guitar mingling among their voices. Somewhere in the trees, a lone owl hoots. You could stay like this forever.

The next morning, Arthur wakes you up earlier than usual. He greets you with a cup of coffee.  


“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says as you take it, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.  


“Mornin’, Arthur. What you getting me up so early for?”  


He smiles and sits down next to you. “Just thought we should go out on a huntin’ trip. Just you and me. Felt like we ain’t done that since we left Horseshoe Overlook.”  


You sip your drink, the heat waking you up. “Sounds good. Where you thinkin’ of going?”  


He sits a moment and thinks. “Well, why don’t you decide? We could go somewhere ya ain’t been before.”  


You pause, remembering your dream from last night. You can remember seeing a large valley with purple flowers, rimmed by thick pine forests and misty mountains cloaked in snow. Ever since Arthur had taken you to Big Valley, you’ve been dreaming of it more often. You suggest going there again.  


“I know we went a few weeks ago, but…” you pause. “It was so beautiful. I wouldn’t mind going there again. To be honest, I’ve missed the forests of West Elizabeth.”  


He takes your hand and smiles. “That’s a’right. We can go there. Well, get ready and let’s go.”  


You quickly finish your coffee and get up to start packing up some supplies. Just as you and Arthur are picking up cans of food from Pearson’s wagon, Hosea walks towards him, smoking his pipe. He greets you fondly before turning to Arthur.  


“I have a job for you, Arthur,” he says.  


“What is it, Hosea?” he asks.  


“We’re going to sell that moonshine you got from the Greys back to where it came from.”  


“And where’s that exactly?”  


“The Braithwaites.”  


Arthur laughs. “You always had a knack for huckling people, old man! I’d love to do this with ya, but I already promised the next couple of days to Y/N here.”  
Hosea nods with a wide smile. “I understand. Well, unfortunately I think you’re the only man suited to help me with this. Dutch has got John on some other job. I’ll wait for ya to come back.”  


He pats Arthur on the shoulder and walks away, coughing slightly. Arthur chuckles.  


“That man with his schemes.”  


“If anyone can pull off something like that,” you say,” It’s Hosea.”  


You both finish packing up your provisions and mount your horses before riding into Rhodes. Arthur leads you to the train station and buys two tickets to a place called Wallace Station, which he says isn’t too far from Big Valley.  


You only have to wait a short while for the train to arrive at the station. Arthur boards it behind you and you take a seat next to a window.  


“I’ve never ridden a train,” you admit.  


“Seriously?” Arthur asks, almost disbelieving. You nod. “Well, they’re certainly a lot quicker and more comfortable than ridin’ on a horse.”  


He drapes an arm over your shoulder as the train begins to move. You’re amazed by how quickly the land slides past you. You watch for a while as the outside world changes from the orange and bright greens of Lemoyne to the soft greens and blues of New Hanover. The swaying of the train is beginning to make you feel tired. You turn and rest your head on Arthur’s shoulder, falling asleep against him.  


After a while, he wakes you up, whispering that you’ve arrived. You open your eyes and look outside, spotting thick pines and willow bushes. You almost leap up, desperate to get into familiar territory again. Arthur laughs as he follows you outside.  


You step out onto the gravel of the train tracks, then spot Rannoch coming towards you. He neighs happily and you dash up to him, petting his nose fondly.  


Arthur mounts Artemis. “Well, let’s go. Big Valley is just over that rise there.”  


You do as he tells you, patting Rannoch on the neck, and follow him. You trot through the trees, breathing in the intoxicating scent of pines, sage and earth. How you’ve missed it!  


You break out of the trees and step into the sunlight, drinking in the view of Big Valley with the little stream winding its way through the grass. You look at Arthur, who’s smiling at you.  


“What?” you say.  


“Nothing,” he says. “You just look happy.”  


“I am. This is wonderful, Arthur.”  


The next few hours, you both wander the valley and the surrounding forest hunting game and finding herbs. You even find a chest, buried beneath the surface of the soil, with an old arrowhead inside. You pocket it.  


As evening begins to fall, a dark storm begins to roll over the valley, threatening lightning and buckets of rain. You look up at the black sky just as Arthur approaches you, throwing a coyote pelt over Artemis.  


“You wanna head into Strawberry? Get a hotel room?” he asks.  


You look at him. “You sure? It’s not like this is the first storm we’ve slept in a storm.”  


“I know,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Well, you decide.”  


You look up again. The sky really doesn’t look friendly and the wind’s picking up, the temperature dropping horribly fast.  


“Yeah, alright. Let’s go to Strawberry.”  


You canter alongside Arthur, heading into the rustic town settled around the river. Arthur leads you over to the saloon and buys you dinner, ignoring your protests with a smirk. When you’re done, he leads you over to the hotel and buys a room and a bath. You look at him curiously.  


“Just gonna take one before bed,” he explains.  


You walk up the stairs with Arthur, your eyes raking over the beautiful architecture. Arthur takes your hand and kisses it before heading off to the washroom.  


You head into your shared room. There’s a single bed, but it’s fairly large. A nice change from sharing the single cot. A few lanterns light the cozy room. You look out the window and see the rain has started to come down in icy sheets. You sit down on the bed, staring out the window.  


While Arthur’s in the bath, you find yourself imagining being in there with him, which takes you back to that day in the trees when he touched you. You find your face growing warm at the memory, along with other body parts. You suddenly feel like you want to take things further, even though you’ve really no idea how to do it. The only time you’ve ever done it was with your husband, and he’d forced himself onto and into you every time. You remind yourself that Arthur would certainly be different.  


Arthur walks into the room, his hair damp, bringing the smell of soap and water with him.  


“Hey, sweetheart,” he says.  


You say nothing, biting your lip instead. You decide to just show him what you want to do instead since your voice doesn’t seem to want to work. You walk up and kiss him deeply, your hand going over the back of his neck. He hums before pulling away.  


“What was that for?” he asks quietly.  


“I want…” you start to say, trying to figure out how to tell him. “I want you, Arthur.” Your other hand slides down his chest, trailing down his stomach and then finding the bulge of his pants. He takes in a sudden breath when you squeeze him gently.  


“Ya shoar?” he asks gently. You nod and kiss him again.  


“Let me know if there’s anything you don’t like, honey. I want ya to enjoy this.”  


“I’m with you,” you mutter against his lips. “I think I’m going to enjoy this just fine.”  


He suddenly starts walking you backwards towards the bed. You feel his hands start unbuttoning your shirt, gently pulling it off you before moving down to your pants. You help him, stripping off your boots until you stand in front of him wearing nothing but your undergarments.  


Your hands move to him again, pulling off his coat, vest and ripping the buttons of his shirt to expose the red union suit beneath it. Within moments, that’s all he’s wearing. He approaches you and kisses you deeply. He reaches to you and lifts up your chemise, taking it off your body. He breaks the kiss to look down at your naked chest. You blush as he stares.  


“Beautiful,” he mutters as he kisses you again. He starts kissing down your jaw, to your neck, your collarbone, making his way down until his lips find your nipple, making you suck in a deep breath. He guides you down onto the bed as he kisses and licks your sensitive tip. His hand finds your free breast, massaging it with his fingers. You groan when he gently pinches your nipple with his teeth, your hands tangling into his hair.  


After a moment, his free hand moves down your stomach, leaving goose bumps in his wake. He pulls down your bloomers, making you blush again. You lie completely naked under him. He stops kissing you and looks at your body.  


“Like I said, beautiful,” he smiles.  


“I can’t wait to see how handsome you are,” you moan; you're breathing heavy already.  


“I don’t know if I would use that word to describe me, but I’ll humor ya.”  


He’s just about to start unbuttoning his union suit when you sit up and grab his hands. “Let me show you how handsome I think you are,” you whisper. He lowers his hands and stands up straight. You start opening his union suit, kissing every new inch of exposed skin. By the time you get to his lower half, his head’s tipped back as he groans. You undo the last few buttons, allowing his length to spring out. You can’t help but stare at it. It’s longer and thicker than your husband’s was, with a large single vein running down it. You take it in your hand and squeeze, causing him to growl. You feel it grow harder, so you start pumping it until it’s throbbing.  


Arthur suddenly grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you down on the bed. A wild look has come in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before. You feel a bit worried for a moment, but then you start to relax when he starts kissing your neck again. His hands run down your body, over your hips and then down to your thighs. His hand reaches into your slit, finding you wet.  


“That’s about right,” he moans into your ear.  


His hands move to your thighs, gently pulling them apart. He hovers over you, planting one of his hands beside your shoulders. With the other, he guides his cock to brush against your entrance, teasing you.  


“Arthur,” you moan. “Please.”  
“Just wanted to make shoar yer ready, darlin’,” he whispers in your ear before kissing just below your ear. He suddenly sinks his length into you all the way to the hilt, filling you and making you gasp. You put your hands on his back, trying to hold onto him. He stays still for a moment, sitting inside of you before he finally pulls back and then slams into you. You start raking your nails across his back, which he doesn’t seem to mind. He winds his hand into your hair, his lips finding yours again as he thrusts himself into you.  


He leans up slightly, grabbing one of your knees and pulling it up, throwing your leg over his shoulder as he pumps into you.  


“Mm, Arthur,” you moan.  


“I love those sounds you make,” he growls. His hands squeeze your hips, causing you to buck up into him. You plant your hands onto his chest, running your hands through the hair there.  


His right hand suddenly leaves your hip, sliding down to your folds where he finds your core. He starts rubbing your clit, sending jolts all the way down to your toes, causing them to curl. He chuckles as you groan loudly, your hands sliding down to his hips and squeezing. He starts moving his fingers faster, bucking into you more wildly. Something starts growing in your chest, moving down into your ribs and then stopping in your stomach.  


“Arthur,” you growl. “Please, more!”  


He chuckles again, his deep laugh pushing you further. “As you wish, darlin’.”  


He presses his hand harder into you, pumping his length deeper into you. That warm feeling in your stomach travels down between your legs, exploding and setting your nerves on fire. You gasp and yell out, your hair plastered against your neck as your feet curl against his back.  


“That’s my girl!” Arthur growls. He rides out your waves, pumping himself harder into you. He leans back down and kisses your neck again, his bucking becoming more wild and less rhythmic. He groans loudly as you feel him throb inside you hard several times, his seed spilling into you.  


You both lie there as his length begins to grow soft inside of you, his body relaxing on you, gasping for breath. After a moment, he gently pulls himself out of you and rolls over onto his back. You close your legs, feeling colder without his body on top of you. You roll over and curl into his side; his arm draping over you as you lay your head onto his chest.  


“Mm, Arthur,” you say quietly as your hand tangles into his hair. “That was great.”  


He kisses your forehead. “Glad I could be of service, ma’am.”  


You lie against him, feeling suddenly exhausted but satisfied. He pulls the blanket over you both as the rain hammers on the roof. His hand settles across your back again, drawing light circles into your skin, sending you into a deep sleep.


	14. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, blood  


Word count: ~8700

The sound of the rain beating down on the roof above your head pulls you gently from your sleep. You stir a bit under the sheets, becoming aware that you’re lying naked on the bed, a somewhat alien sensation but not an entirely unwelcome one. What happened last night between you and Arthur suddenly comes back to you. You stir slightly again, feeling a tenderness between your legs. You remember how sore you’d been when your former husband, James, had taken you the first time. How painful it was the next couple of days after. The soreness you feel now is different; less painful and certainly less hindering.  


You roll over and find Arthur sitting on the bed, his journal in his lap. The sheets cover his legs, but other than that he’s entirely exposed. The scratching of his pencil stops and he smiles at you.  


“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says gently.  


You bite your lip and blush before sitting up, using the sheet to cover the majority of your body. You don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling so self conscious. It’s probably just the fact that your parents used to drag you to church, where the priest used to hammer into everyone’s brain that to have sex before marriage was a damning act. You stopped going to church after you were forced into your marriage. No one said that what James did to you was a damning act because he was married to you. What you and Arthur had done last night felt more right than any night you had spent with James.  


Arthur puts down his pencil and sets his journal next to his leg. He turns his body so he can see you better.  


“You a’right?” he asks.  


You nod your head, finally finding your voice. “Last night was…” you begin to say.  


He takes your hand. “Amazing.”  


You feel your face blush again, the heat sinking down your neck. You shake your head. “I don’t know if I would say that. Not that you weren’t incredible,” you say, trying not to make him feel like he was inadequate. Arthur had known exactly how to please you; he’d made you feel things you never knew you could feel. “But I doubt I was any good.”  


Arthur smiles sadly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I thought you were great, darlin’,” he says, bringing your hand up to kiss it. “Those sounds you made last night.”  


You blush again but reward him with a smile. You’re sure you had gotten pretty loud; the neighbors probably didn’t appreciate it.  


“You know, I never did pay you back for that day in the woods,” you say.  


Arthur chuckles. “I didn’t do that with thought of payment, sweetheart. That was entirely for you. Besides, think you paid me for it last night. That never wouldn’t have happened if…”  


“If you hadn’t shown me it could be so good?” you finish. He looks up at you and nods. You make a mental note on how gorgeous his eyes are; you still don’t know if they’re green or blue.  


“I love you, Y/N,” he suddenly says, completely throwing you off. You blink and then smile.  


“I love you, too, Arthur Morgan.”  


He leans back on the pillows, placing an arm behind you and pulling you into him. You happily lay on his chest, your fingers trailing through his hair. You realize how attractive it is, how the light coming from the window makes it glint gold and red. It doesn’t help that his shoulders and chest are so broad.  


“Hmm, you’re much harrier than my husband was,” you say without thinking, watching your fingers comb through his hair.  


“Is that a bad thing?”  


You look up at him and smile. “Absolutely not. If anything, it just makes you more handsome.”  


He looks away, his hand rubbing up your back. “Well, that makes one of us, darlin’.”  


“Arthur,” you say, placing a hand on his cheek to make him look at you. “You are handsome.”  


He smiles softly at you, but you can tell by his eyes he doesn’t believe it. You sit up and look at him, your hand still on his cheek.  


“Arthur, you are the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”  


He looks down. “That’s real kind of ya, sweetheart, but I know ya ain’t met many men. Doubt you really have much to compare me to. ‘Sides, I’m a bad man, Y/N. I killed a lot of people and over a lot of real dumb stuff.”  


You gently lift his head so he has to look at you again. “Just because you’ve done bad things, Arthur, doesn’t mean you’re a bad man. The fact that you regret those things means you have goodness inside of you.”  


You can tell by his face that he’s about to argue, so you cut him off gently.  


“Arthur, my husband and my father were both law-abiding citizens. Would you consider them good men just because they hadn’t killed anybody?”  


Arthur sighs. “I done more than kill people, Y/N. I’ve robbed people, too.”  


You stroke his cheek with your thumb. “My father owned a store, and my husband was a compulsive gambler. You think they didn’t rob people? Besides, you know what they did to me. Does the fact that they weren’t wanted by the law make them good men?”  


Arthur places his hand over yours. He kisses the inside of your hand before looking back at you.  


“No, Y/N,” he finally says. “They weren’t good men.”  


“Exactly. My father was the biggest terror of my life, yet he was respected in the community. I was terrified every moment I was around my husband, yet he had friends who were lawmen. But when I’m with you, I know I’m safe. And Arthur?” you say, making sure he’s looking in your eyes. “Truly bad people don’t ask themselves if they’re bad.”  


He suddenly smiles softly, his hand grabbing yours again. “How did I get so lucky to meet someone as amazing as you?”  


You blush, looking down. Despite the fact that you’ve just been trying to help Arthur see himself better, you can’t believe that someone like him would think something so good about you. His finger slides under your chin, lifting your face up gently so he can look at you again.  


“I mean it, darlin’. Yer amazin’.”  


He bends down and kisses you. You lean your body into his, your hand sliding up and settling on his shoulder. He pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you. You break the kiss by the need for air. You smile at him.  


“Ya know,” he says. “I may not have been with a lot of women, but yer certainly the best of ‘em.”  


“Arthur,” you say with a small laugh. “The only woman I know you’ve been with is Mary. Forgive me, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person that ever deserved you. Besides, if you’re comparing me to her, well she and I don’t seem nothing alike.”  


He sighs heavily, his smile fading. “She ain’t the only one I been with, Y/N.”  


His eyes look away, but not before you see an incredible sadness in them.  


“What happened, Arthur?”  


“I had a son once.”  


Your breath hitches in your chest. Out of all the things you might have guessed he would say, that was the last one. “Did you… was Mary his mother?”  


He shakes his head a little. “No, this was after Mary. I… I met a young girl named Eliza. 19. Waitress. I went into a saloon in this one little town for a few drinks. When we saw each other, we connected. Had way too many drinks, me and her.  


“Took her home that night and we… well, I don’t remember much. But a few months later, Strauss brought me a letter from town that was from her saying she was pregnant. I did everything I could to help her while still workin’ for the gang.”  


“Did you tell anyone? About Eliza and your son?”  


“Only Hosea. Don’t know what I woulda done without his help. He helped keep my head straight so I could be a father to Isaac and still be part of the gang. Every few months, I’d stop by Eliza’s place for a few days. Brought her as much money as I could, and I took Isaac out huntin’ and fishin’.”  


His eyes are far away as his hand runs up your back.  


“One day, I got to her place and I saw two crosses outside. I knew immediately what it meant. Turns out some bastards had come and robbed ‘em, shot ‘em both dead. For $10. It hardened me, seein’ their names on those crosses.”  


You hadn’t even been aware of your eyes watering, but a tear suddenly slides down your cheek.  


“Arthur, I’m… I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine…”  


Arthur just sighs, his face heavy.  


“He was a good kid. Could never do wrong in his eyes, that was a lot of pressure. I shoulda been better to him. I could have saved them both if I… If I had been there the way a real father would have been.”  


You don’t know what to say. You wipe your eyes quickly, trying to stem the flow of tears.  


“It’s not your fault, Arthur,” you say without really thinking. “It’s not your fault that this life, this gang is all you’ve known. It’s not your fault that you’re as loyal as you are to Dutch, Hosea, the others. Anyone in your shoes would have done the same. You did the best you could with the situation you were put in.”  


Arthur sighs again, but doesn’t say anything more. You can tell he hates himself for what happened.  


“Did you ever find them?” you ask. “The men who…”  


“No. ‘Sides, even if I did, it wouldn’t bring them back.”  


You slide off his lap and kneel onto your knees. He looks at you curiously. Hesitating slightly, you grab his shoulders and bring him to you, placing his head on your shoulder as you hold him. His arms suddenly wrap around you so tight you almost struggle to breathe. His entire body shakes as you hear him sniff loudly. You brush your fingers through his hair and rub his back.  


You don’t know how long you and he stay like that, but after a while he finally pulls away, his eyes slightly red and puffy. He places a hand on your cheek and kisses your forehead.  


“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispers. 

The rain carries on for the next two days, essentially trapping you and Arthur in Strawberry. Most of the time you spend in the hotel room, where you make love twice more. The rain finally begins to slow into a light drizzle.  


The constant rain has dropped the temperature considerably to the point that the few times you have been outside, you’ve been able to see your breath.  


Arthur leads you down the muddy street, ignoring the light rain, hand in hand with you. He takes you across the bridge and down to the saloon in town. You don’t really know why it’s called the saloon, Strawberry’s a dry town.  


Arthur grabs a table for the both of you and orders venison steaks.  


“Hope this rain stops soon,” you say over your meal. “We ain’t hunted much on this hunting trip.”  


“I know. Camp definitely needs it, but I’m glad it rained. Gave us an excuse to…”  


You blush over the table, smiling at him. “Me too.”  


He grabs your hand resting on the table. “But I think it’s come down enough we could go huntin’ now.”  


You agree and finish your meal. He walks you back to the horses where you mount Rannoch, with some difficulty. Arthur watches you with what you find to be a slightly cockish grin. He catches your eye and chuckles.  


“Sorry, darlin’,” he says from Artemis’s back.  


“It’s okay, Arthur. I’ll get used to it. Gonna have to around you.”  


He chuckles again before leading you down the trail and towards Big Valley again. The remainder of the day you spend hunting, mainly pronghorns, deer and elk. The rain has stopped by nightfall, allowing you and Arthur to set up the tent on the soggy ground. You would have frozen during the night if it hadn’t been for Arthur lying close to you. You remember with a small grin how on the first night you’d spent in a tent with Arthur, you had hugged the side of the tent and barely moved. Now you curl into the crook of his arm, loving the feeling of his hand resting on your shoulder. You fall asleep, drinking in his comforting scent.  


In the morning, you find yourself completely lying on top of Arthur, his thin blanket draped across you. You start to stir, hoping you’re not crushing him. His hand settles between your shoulder blades as he kisses your forehead.  


“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he says.  


You look up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to completely take over your space.”  


He grins at you. “You didn’t. I… pulled you up here.”  


“Why?”  


He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, I just wanted to.”  


You kiss the scar on his chin before laying your head into the crook of his neck.  


“You warm enough? I know you was cold last night,” he asks.  


You sigh into his neck. “Yeah, I’m good.”  


After a while, you finally slide off of him. He looks at you curiously.  


“We probably need to get back to hunting, Arthur. We’ve been gone for days.”  


He sighs before nodding. You both get up and pack up the tent. Just as you’re resaddling Rannoch, you hear something not far off growling and grunting. You look over Rannoch’s back and see a massive grizzly about 50 yards off in the trees. You’ve never come across a grizzly bear before, so you definitely don’t have the confidence to go after one.  


Arthur stands behind you, watching the bear. “He’s got a lot of meat on him,” he says in a deep voice.  


“Yeah, but there’s no way we can take him down without him attacking us.”  


Arthur rubs his chin. “I might.” He grabs his bow from Artemis’s saddle.  


“Arthur, an arrow isn’t going to kill a grizzly.”  


“Not a regular one, no. But Charles gave me some poison arrows.”  


He hunches down and starts slowly walking towards the bear.  


“Be careful,” you whisper.  


He continues on, his eyes never leaving the large bear. When he’s about twenty yards away from it, he stands up and aims the arrow. The bear looks up and sees him; it roars angrily. Arthur lets the arrow go, which hits the bear in the shoulder. The bear roars again and begins charging towards him.  


“Arthur!” you scream. He’s just about to run back to you when the bear suddenly stops and starts running a paw against its neck. It turns away and begins ambling towards the tree, grunting. It suddenly slumps down on its side, its legs twitching.  


Arthur gives you a knowing grin before turning and approaching the grunting bear. You’re worried the bear might attack him, even in its state, but Arthur plunges his knife into its heart. You hear it give one pained roar before its head slumps on the ground, completely still.  


You approach Arthur as he begins to skin the bear. You help him since the thing is so massive. He heaves the rolled up skin onto his shoulder with a grunt and throws it onto Artemis’s back.  


“What ya think, darlin’?” he asks. “Ya ready to head back to camp?”  


“Guess we oughta. I know Hosea’s got a job for you.”  


“Shit, I forgot about that. Well, let’s go.”  


You smile at him as you mount Rannoch and follow him to Wallace Station, taking the train to Rhodes again. You manage to stay awake for this trip, Arthur’s hand on your leg the whole time.  


“You ever rob a train like this, Arthur?” you ask. You know he’s robbed trains in the past, but you never knew what kind.  


He smiles at you with a huff.  


“Of course, darlin’. Even beaten a few passengers.”  


“You don’t think any train we get on will be robbed, do you?”  


He shakes his head. “No. Train robberies are mostly a thing of the past. The only ones that really get targeted are ones travelling a long distance. We’ll be fine.”  


The train pulls into Rhodes and you both make your way to Clemens Point.  


As soon as you enter the clearing, Hosea’s waiting in the trees with a wagon full of jugs you can only assume are full of moonshine. He hollers at Arthur, John sitting by his side. He dismounts Artemis and throws the bear pelt on to Rannoch’s back, patting your thigh before approaching Hosea.  


You continue off into the clearing, donating the pelt to Pearson, who thanks you. He remarks on how you have fewer pelts for the amount of time you had been out. You try your best not to blush.  


“Yeah, it rained heaps up there. We got trapped for a day or two.”  


Pearson just gives you a smile beneath his thick mustache, going to a deer hanging up to drain.  


As soon as Grimshaw sees you, she pounces on you, dealing out a large round of chores. By the time the sun has set, the rim of the horizon peaked with gold, you’re just finishing. Your stomach rumbles angrily; you haven’t taken a break since you’ve returned. You flex your sore fingers, which had been scrubbing laundry for the last hour. You stand up, heading over to the stew pot.  


Just as you finish scooping up a plate, you hear someone approaching you. You turn and end up face to face with Micah.  


“Ah, so nice for you to grace us with your presence again,” he sneers.  


“What do you want, Micah?” you say harshly.  


He lifts up his hand in an unconvincing gesture. “Nothing, miss. Y’know, I bet yer real happy to be this far from Blackwater.”  


“What’s that supposed to mean?”  


His grin widens. “I know you’re still wanted in Blackwater. From what I understand, you got a real nice bounty there.”  


“Too bad yours is bigger than mine. Prevents you from claiming it,” you snarl.  


His smile slinks into a frown. “Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll cut your tongue out, girlie.”  


His words suddenly remind you of those Murphrees, taunting you in the cage. You try to ignore the icy stab in your chest.  


“I’ll talk to you however I please, Mr. Bell. You’re nothing but a foul piece of shit.”  


He raises his hand, you stand firm. A voice echoes through the camp.  


“That was fun, Fenton!” you hear Hosea.  


Micah lowers his hand, spotting Arthur and Hosea climbing off the wagon.  


“Ah, you ain’t worth it right now,” he growls, stalking off. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. Arthur approaches you, a small smile playing on his lips.  


“What did Hosea need with you?” you ask, your voice surprisingly steady.  


He grabs a plate and starts filling it with stew. “Ah, we went to go sell it back to the Braithewaites. Only guess they knew we were the ones who stole it, so they had us go give it out for free at the saloon.”  


He stands up straight, rolling his eyes. “Hosea came up with some scheme that required we dress up. Not my favorite thing to do. But we pulled it off until them damn Raiders showed up.”  


He takes your hand and leads you over to the table so you can both eat. Afterwards, you follow him to the campfire and spend the remainder of the evening listening to the others’ stories.  


After a few moments of silence, Arthur speaks up.  


“Been a tough few weeks. I know I been kinda mad with you all. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry but I… I want us to get outta here. Everybody nearly gone crazy. I’m just trying to keep things together.”  


He sighs heavily before continuing. “Sometimes it gets hard. I guess I’m… I’m just struggling to find a path forward for us all. Same as Dutch, same as Hosea. I don’t wanna die, but if I have to, I will. So forgive me, all of you.”  


The others stay silent, including you, as you listen to his words. He stands up and heads off towards his tent. After a moment, you stand up and follow him.  


“What was that all about?” you ask quietly, closing the tent flaps.  


“What?” he says, taking off his shotgun coat and vest.  


“That. Your little confession or whatever you wanna call it.”  


“Oh. Nothing, darlin’. I just… I know I been hard on everyone lately. Just wanted ‘em all to know I ain’t doin’ it outta hate.”  


You walk up to him and put a hand on his cheek. “They know that, Arthur. Everyone here knows why you been angry. You’re just trying to keep everyone alive. Can only imagine the pressure on your shoulders right now.”  


He sighs before wrapping his arms around you. “I don’t even wanna know where I’d be without you, darlin’.”  


You smile at him. “Probably in a mudpit, drunk as hell,” you tease.  


He chuckles. “Probably.”  


He gives you a small kiss before letting you go and sits down to take off his boots. You do the same before you lie down next to him, curling into his side once more. 

Over the next few days, Hosea and Dutch keep Arthur busy dealing with the Grays and the Braithewaites. Micah came up with the idea that they should attempt to rob both families, something Arthur found to be an unwise decision. You’ve noticed that Dutch has been listening to Micah more and more. You don’t like it since it was Micah’s idea to rob the ferry in Blackwater and that turned out to be a complete mess.  


Arthur had come back to camp early in the morning after spending all night with Sean, something to do with the Gray’s tobacco fields. He walks into the camp, bringing the smell of burnt tobacco with him.  


“How’d it go?” you ask tiredly. You’ve been sleeping soundly until he had come in.  


“Ah, ‘bout as well as you’d expect. Burned the fields just fine, then the Gray’s started shooting at me and Sean. That boy may be a fool, but he knows how to play people. You shoulda seen him talk his way into their land,” he says with a chuckle.  


“You didn’t get hurt, did ya?” you ask, sitting up and giving him a look.  


“Course not.” He sits down and sighs. “I have to head out in a bit. Join John at the Braithewaites. Grays mentioned they got some real nice Thoroughbred stallions.”  


You grab him by the shoulders and pull him down to lie on the bed. “You need to get some sleep first, Arthur,” you say, planting yourself on top of him.  


“I’ll get some sleep when I get back, darlin’,” he says with a smile. You can tell by his eyes he’s exhausted.  


“Arthur, I know you pride yourself on pretty much carrying this gang single handedly, but you need to get some rest.”  


You bend down and kiss him. His arms loop around you, squeezing you to him. He groans suddenly and you can feel him getting hard beneath you. You laugh against him.  


“I’m serious, Arthur. You need some sleep.”  


He kisses you again. “I could get to sleep a lot faster if…”  


You grin at him, knowing exactly where he wants this to go. You stand up and close the tent flaps.  


“Okay, fine, but you have to promise to be quiet,” you say, climbing back onto him.

After Arthur’s fallen asleep, you approach the campfire to grab some coffee. Abigail greets you warmly.  


“How’s Jack?” you ask, sipping.  


She smiles. “He’s… well, he’s doin’ just fine. If only…”  


She trails off and shakes her head. You know she was about to say she wished John would be a better father to the boy. You just give her a sad smile before finishing your coffee.  


You walk away towards Rannoch. You pull out a brush and begin grooming him.  


“Good morning,” says a quiet, raspy voice behind you. Facing it, you find Kieran the O’Driscoll.  


“Hello,” you say somewhat apprehensively. You’ve never actually spoken to him or even been around him much.  


“Real fine horse you have, miss,” he says with a soft smile.  


“Well, thank you.”  


“You tamed him yourself, right?”  


You smile. “Well, with Arthur’s help I guess.”  


Kieran smiles and approaches Rannoch, offering him a sugar cube.  


“What did you name him again?”  


“Rannoch.”  


“Rannoch?” he repeats. “Bit of a strange name. What’s it mean?”  


“I… I don’t know,” you admit. “I got it from a book my grandmother used to read to me. It was the name of the main character. Thought it fit.”  


“Well that’s real nice.”  


You smile at him, turning back to Rannoch to pick out his hooves. When you finish, you stand up and find him staring at you, almost sadly.  


“Arthur told me you saved his life back at Six Point Cabin,” you say awkwardly.  


“Oh, that… that-that was nothing,” he says, looking away.  


“Weren’t nothing to me,” you say. “Thank you.”  


He just nods and smiles before walking away towards his red roan horse.  


You hear someone from near the main campfire calling your name. You turn and find Lenny and Bill standing near each other. Lenny gestures to you.  


“What’s going on?” you ask, approaching them.  


“Kid heard about a stage coach comin’ up from Saint Denis,” Bill says. “Headin’ up through Scarlet Meadows.”  


“We figure it would be easiest to stop and rob if we had someone like you helpin’ us,” Lenny finishes.  


“Me? Why me? I ain’t ever even robbed a stage before, fellas.”  


Bill looks hard at you. “‘Cause yer young and pretty. Pretend like yer injured by the road and I bet them fellas on the stage will stop to see yer okay.”  


“Ah, you mean you need an innocent woman’s help,” you say, trying not to sound accusatory. “Wouldn’t Mary-Beth be better? She’s younger than me and, well, she at least wears skirts.”  


Lenny grins at you. “Yeah, but you know how to handle a gun. I saw you at Shady Belle.”  


“Am I going to need to handle a gun again?” you ask.  


“We’re hoping not,” Bill says, growing impatient. “Now let’s go. Grab yer horse and follow us.”  


Not having much choice, you walk over and hop onto Rannoch’s back. You glance over at your shared tent briefly, seeing Arthur still sleeping in his cot. You wonder if he’d be happy about you being pulled into this. You shrug your shoulders and follow Bill and Lenny.  


They lead you up to the Scarlet Meadows until you pass a small stream called Ringneck Creek. Just beyond it lies a trail heading north. Bill and Lenny stop in the trees.  


“Okay, Y/N,” Bill says gruffly. “Now you just sit by the trail there and pretend to be lost or injured. We’ll wait here.”  


You nod, feeling a little unsure. You dismount Rannoch and go to stand next to the trail. Looking down south, you find no one on the trail just yet.  


“What time’s the stage supposed to come through here?” you yell back to the others.  


“Just whenever it comes through,” Bill shoots back. “Ain’t like these things run on clockwork.”  


“Your encouragement is staggering, Bill,” you shoot back, looking down on the trail again.  


Fifteen minutes go by and still nothing. You’re just about to ask if you’ve possibly missed it when Lenny speaks up, looking through his binoculars.  


“I see ‘em, they’re comin’!”  


You reposition yourself on the trail and decide to use the injured woman technique. You sit down on the grass and grab your ankle, trying to put a pained expression on your face.  


The stage comes over the small rise on the trail and approaches you, followed by four riders.  


“Hey!” you yell out. “Hey, could you help?”  


“We don’t take passengers, lady!” One of the men on top of the stage yells at you.  


“Hold on,” the driver says, coming to a stop. “It’s just a girl, Henderson. Need help, ma’am?”  


You nod and act relieved. “Yes, sir. My horse threw me and I think I twisted my ankle. Could you just drop me off at the closest town you’re going to?”  


“I told ya, lady,” the man named Henderson snarls at you. “We don’t take passengers.”  


“Will you calm down?” the driver says to him. “It ain’t that far to Emerald Ranch, we can drop her off there.”  


Just as he’s about to hop off the wagon, Bill and Lenny run over on their horses, rifles pointed, bandanas covering their faces.  


“Hands up! Get off the wagon!” Bill demands.  


“You sons of bitches!” Henderson yells out. He points his rifle at Bill, but Lenny shoots him. Immediately the air is filled with explosions as you and the others fire upon the riders. The driver had jumped off the wagon and vanished before he could get shot. After a few moments, you, Bill and Lenny are the only ones left standing.  


“Well, that weren’t too hard,” Bill says. You holster your gun and approach the stage coach. Just as your about to reach for the door handle, something grabs your ankle and pulls you down to your knees. The driver of the stage, who had been hiding underneath it, kneels behind you, pointing the barrel of a pistol to your temple.  


“Drop your guns!” he yells to Bill and Lenny. “Or I’ll kill her!”  


You start to struggle and his hand comes up and wraps around your throat.  


“Easy, fella,” Lenny says, holding up his rifle and his other hand. “Let her go!”  


The driver pulls back the hammer. “You think I’m kidding? I’ll do it!”  


You thrust your elbow into his gut, he grunts and lets go of your throat. He buckles over and you turn around and punch him in the nose. You hear his gun go off before he falls down. Something hard tugs on your shirt, pulling you down. Bill’s rifle goes off, the bullet striking the driver in the head and splattering you in blood. You lie on the ground, convinced you’ve been shot although there’s no pain.  


“You’re okay!” Lenny says, running over and helping you up.  


“Am I shot?” you say, looking down at yourself. The only blood you see is the driver’s. Upon further inspection, you find a tiny hole in your shirt on the very edge of your body. You stick a finger into it and find that the bullet went through your shirt, which was a little large for you, but didn’t hit you. You take a deep breath, relieved.  


“Ya shoulda been more careful, Y/N,” Bill snarls at you as he throws open the stage door.  


“I wasn’t the only one who didn’t see him, Bill!” you say loudly.  


He just grumbles as he searches the stage and comes out. He throws you and Lenny a bundle of $75.  


“Not a bad take,” you say, putting it into your satchel.  


The three of you head back to your horses and run back to Clemens Point. It’s late afternoon by the time you return. You see Artemis hitched next to John’s horse Old Boy.  


As soon as you dismount, you hear Arthur speaking. He sounds angry.  


“Takin’ her out! She don’t know the first thing about robbin’ a stage!”  


You look over Rannoch’s back and find him hollering at Bill.  


“She did just fine! No one got shot, we got paid!” he yells back to Arthur.  


“Yeah, though not for lack of tryin’!” Arthur stomps away from him and towards you, waving his hand behind him. You’re suddenly worried. You’ve never liked being yelled at, despite how much your father did it to you. You straighten up, resolved to face it with all your courage.  


Arthur comes to stand in front of you, his eyes hard and his brows furrowed.  


“Are you hurt?” he demands.  


You sigh. “No, Arthur. I’m just fine.”  


“Who’s blood is that, then?” he gestures to your shirt. You’d managed to wipe it from your face but knew there was nothing you could do about your clothes. You tell him about the driver.  


“Jesus, Y/N,” he says in frustration. “That’s the first thing ya do when robbing a wagon!”  


“How was I to know? I never robbed one before.”  


“Then why’d ya go out with Lenny and that fool?”  


“How am I supposed to learn if I never do it?” you retort.  


“I was gonna teach ya!” he says loudly. “But I been doin’ jobs for Dutch and Hosea! I was gonna take ya out when the time was right! I never wanna hear that you gone out robbin’ while I’m doin’ another job, ya hear me?!”  


You wince at how loud his voice has gotten.  


“It wasn’t my idea, Arthur,” you say quietly. “Bill told me I’d be perfect for the job.”  


“And yer really gonna listen to that fool?”  


“It went just fine, Arthur! I didn’t get shot, no one got hurt.”  


He points to the hole in your shirt. “And like I said, it weren’t for lack o’ tryin’! It only takes once, Y/N!”  


“So it’s okay for you to get shot at by a dozen men during a job, but one guy on a job of mine owns a pistol and I’m too weak to handle it?”  


“That ain’t what I’m sayin’, Y/N,” he says quickly. “I’m just sayin’ ya need to be more careful! I don’t ever wanna hear ya been out doin’ this without me, understand?”  


“I can take care of myself, Arthur! You know I can! I lived by myself for a year until I met you, chased by bounty hunters. Even shot a few.”  


Arthur raises his hands and takes a step back from you, lowering and shaking his head. “I know what you done, sweetheart,” he says in a quieter tone. “I ain’t tryin’ to say yer weak. I just…”  


He looks back up at you and you see the worry in his eyes. You take a hesitant step towards him, realizing how scared he must have been when he came back to hear you’d gone out on a job you had no experience with.  


“I’m sorry,” you say, taking his hand nervously. You’re worried he’s still angry with you and that he might shake you off. Instead, his hand wraps around yours.  


“Just promise me ya won’t do that again. If ya wanna do a job, let me know. I wanna be there with ya.”  


“And what if it’s another situation like it was today?” you look up at him. “Where you’re gone and one of the others presents the opportunity.”  


He sighs. “For now, tell ‘em to find someone else. I just… I want ya to know what yer doin’ before ya do stuff like that.”  


You nod and slide your hand out of his. You’re just about to walk away when he grabs you gently, pulling you into his chest. You hesitate before wrapping your arms around him, nestling into his neck. He kisses your forehead before letting you go.  


“That bullet didn’t get ya now, did it?” he asks, his voice gentle.  


You shake your head and look down, pulling at your shirt where the bullet struck.  


“It missed me somehow. Got lucky, I guess.”  


He smiles at you. “Well, thank God for that. Now come on, let’s get ya somethin’ to eat.”  


He takes your hand and guides you over to get some stew. Sitting down at the table, he grabs your free hand again. You’ve noticed how, ever since you both came out in the open about your relationship, he’s almost always touching you. Not that you mind, of course. You rather enjoy it.  


“So, how much you come out with, anyways?” he asks.  


You swallow the salty stew. “About $75.”  


“Pretty good for yer first stage.”  


“How much you get your first one?”  


He chuckles. “Ah, about $20. Think it was one of them decoy stages.”  


“What are those?”  


Arthur explains how stage companies will send out decoy stages with a relatively small score to lure in criminals. You try not to smile at the end of his story, which ends with him recalling how he had tripped and fallen into some mud.  


“Susan gave me a real good smackin’ when I got back, covered in that shit,” he chuckles.  


After a few moments, Grimshaw, Pearson and John approach the table.  


“We’re gonna play some poker,” John says. “You mind if we use the table?”  


Arthur looks up at them. “Shoar. I’ll play, too.”  


You stand up and grab yours and Arthur’s plates, taking them back to Pearson’s wagon, dumping them into the washbin. You go back to the table, planning on playing but finding that all the crates used as seats have been taken up.  


You stand next to Arthur, placing an arm on his shoulder and leaning on it.  


“You wanna play, sweetheart?” he asks.  


“Sure, but there ain’t no more seats.”  


He chuckles. “Shoar there is.”  


His hand winds behind your waist, bringing you forward until you’re sitting on his lap.  


“Arthur!” you say with a laugh. He just chuckles again as John shuffles the deck and hands everyone two cards. You look at yours: King of spades and 3 of hearts. You spot Arthur glancing at your cards.  


“Are you cheating, Mr. Morgan? Is that why you made me sit here?” you playfully smack his shoulder, making him laugh. You hear Pearson and Grimshaw chuckle. John rolls his eyes.  


“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Arthur says, smiling. “I couldn’t help it.”  


“Sure you couldn’t,” you respond.  


You and the others start throwing in your bets.  


“Hope you’ll actually be around the next couple of days,” Grimshaw says to you. “Girls could use your help.”  


“Ah, it’s my fault, Susan,” Arthur says, folding his hand. “I been takin’ her out huntin’.”  


“Well, you need to remember she has other responsibilities, Mr. Morgan.”  


“I won’t complain,” Pearson says, tossing in his bets. “Always appreciate the meat you both bring in.”  


The cards on the table show you’ve got next to nothing. If it weren’t for your King, you’d be folding. You lay your cards down, losing to John’s hand.  


You play a few more hands, occasionally peaking at Arthur’s cards. You’re sure he’s been looking at yours as well. After a while, you’re growing tired. You throw your hand in, which had nothing, and settle into Arthur.  


“You gonna head off to bed?” he whispers in your ear.  


“Nah, I’ll just watch with you for a bit,” you say. He nods and places his bet. You look up into the sky and silently acknowledge the stars. You recall how a few months ago, you’d been staring at the same stars tied to a tree and thinking it would be your last night alive. 

You wake up in the morning, lying in your shared cot. You stir as little as possible due to the fact that this cot’s really only big enough for one. Your back is to Arthur, so you turn as gently as possible. He’s sleeping on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped over the journal lying open on his stomach.  


You reach over and gently grab the book, slowly sliding it out from under his hand. He grunts a bit in his sleep, his head turning slightly, but he doesn’t wake. You turn the book so the page he was working on faces you. You find a detailed pencil drawing of a long-legged horse. You don’t recognize it and you wonder if it was one of the one’s he’d stolen from the Braithewaites.  


You flip through the previous pages, reading some of the passages he’d written. You marvel at his hand writing, the graceful loops and curving letters. You find your face drawn multiple times, along with some passages about things he had done with you. On one page, you find a highly detailed drawing of you lying in bed, your naked back exposed to him. You blush slightly at the fact that he even wanted to draw you in such a way. You read the passage he wrote explaining how you and he had connected in a new, more passionate way that night and how much he loved you.  


Flipping through the pages, you find more drawings, more entries entailing the things he’s seen on his travels, the people he’s met. You find a page that catches your attention. On the left side is your face. He’s drawn you wearing a pained expression. On the right side, you read his passage.  


Y/N confronted me on Mary. Told me that woman were never good enough for me, that I should find someone worth my efforts. Me being the fool I am, I threw it in her face. I know she’s got feelings for me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have any for her. This whole thing has gotten my head into a spiral. Oh Mary, what have you done to me? Got me so wrapped around you, I can’t even let you go long enough to find someone else. I said some bad things I’ll never be proud of to Y/N, I know I hurt her. She thought I was gonna hit her. I’ll never forget that horrible way she looked at me.  


You flip the page, feeling sad. You wonder if he still has feelings for Mary, or if he’ll ever be over her. You read the next passage. You don’t dare mention it to him though.  


I been a real fool. Chasing after Mary the way I have. Y/N told me if she really loved me, she wouldn’t be treating me this way. She’s right, of course, I known that a long time. I plan on telling Y/N the truth, how I feel about her. She’s gone now, off hunting or robbing or something along those lines.  


Under that passage was a drawing of you standing in the trees across camp from where his tent had been in Horseshoe Overlook, your back to him. You flip the page and read the next passage, accompanied with a drawing of you looking hurt and miserable, your arm crossing your stomach.  


Poor Y/N. Running from me, she got herself caught by some nasty folk called the Murphree Brood. They shot her horse and tortured her. Found her by her horse’s body, half dead. Surprised she could even stand, the way she was. When she saw me, she looked as though she was waiting for me to put her out of her misery. All I could do was hold on to her.  


I’m a coward and a fool. I couldn’t even tell her the things I feel for her. She might have had feelings for me before, but after all this, I’d be lucky if she felt even a bit of that for me.  


Arthur begins to stir beside you. You try and shut the book quickly, but you’re not fast enough. His eyes open, finding you immediately.  


“What you doin’ with that?” he mutters, hardly moving. You can tell by his eyes he isn’t angry.  


“Sorry, Arthur. This was lying open. I… I really shouldn’t have read it.”  


“‘S’a’right, darlin’,” he says, sitting up next to you. You shut the journal and hand it back to him with a small smile. He slides it into his satchel before turning back to you, wrapping an arm behind you.  


“I love your drawings,” you say before you can stop yourself, not knowing what to say in regards to his passages.  


He laughs. “Those silly things? Ain’t nothing special.”  


“Well, I think they are. Wish I had your skill.”  


He just smiles before kissing your head. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”  


The two of you stand up after putting your boots back on. He holds your hand as he walks you through the camp. You greet Sean warmly, who’s just come from guard duty, standing next to the campfire with a cup of coffee.  


“Ah, English and his girl!”  


“Why are ya always calling me that?” Arthur says gruffly to him. “My family weren’t even English!”  


Sean just chuckles before strolling away. You pour Arthur and yourself the steaming liquid, handing him his cup. He nods in thanks before taking a sip. You hear someone from near the lake calling Arthur’s name. You both turn and see Micah beckoning to him from Dutch’s tent.  


“Ah, what now?” Arthur mutters.  


You follow him to Dutch’s tent, where Micah is cleaning his pistol.  


“What you want, Micah?” Arthur says. You hear a small hint of hesitancy. He’s told you how every job he’s done with Micah has turned into a blood bath.  


“Blessed are the peacemakers,” Micah says sarcastically. “For they shall be called…”  


Arthur cuts him off, beckoning to Molly, who angrily walks past. “Hey, Molly, where’s Dutch?”  


She just raises her hands and continues wandering off.  


“Well, however it goes,” Micah finishes as though Arthur had never spoken.  


“I’m not sure that line of thought serves you and me very well.”  


“Well, that’s because, cowpoke, you are a man of profoundly limited intelligence.”  


You step forward. “Shut your mouth, Micah.”  


He chuckles. “I only speak the truth, miss.”  


You’re just about to spit at him when Arthur puts a hand on your shoulder, stepping towards him.  


“Enough of that. Now what you want?”  


Micah adjusts his gun in his holster before leaning towards him. “While you and the old man and Dutch have been running around digging us ever deeper into shit, old Mr. Pearson might have gone and lightened the load a little.”  


He calls Pearson over. The cook scurries over quickly, an excited grin on his face. Dutch wanders over as well, greeting them.  


“You tell ‘em, fat man,” Micah says to Pearson.  


“It’s peace, Dutch. The O’Driscolls. I mean, I think there’s a way.”  


“Get the words out properly, fat man!” Micah says to him, rolling his eyes.  


Pearson begins explaining how he bumped into some of the O’Driscolls. “Things were about to get ugly, but you know how I am in a fight!” He whips out his knife with a grin. 

“Like a cornered tiger!” He smiles over at you, clearly trying to look intimidating. You just fold your arms and smile back at him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.  


“Anyway,” he continues, putting his knife away. “We got to talking and they suggested a parley to end things like gentlemen.”  


“Gentlemen?” Dutch suddenly snaps, walking heavily over to Pearson. “Colm O’Driscoll? Have you lost your minds?”  


“You’re always telling us, Dutch,” Micah says. “Don’t fight wars ain’t worth fighting.”  


Hosea, who’d been sitting at the table nearby and reading a newspaper, calls over. “It’s a trap!”  


“Well, of course it’s probably a trap,” Micah responds. “But what have we got to lose finding out?”  


“Getting shot,” Arthur says, glaring at Micah.  


“We ain’t getting shot,” Micah says to him. “Because you’ll be protecting us! If it’s a trap, you shoot ‘em all, but if it’s that slim chance…”  


“I don’t see the point in any of this!” Dutch says, walking past you and Arthur.  


“It’s a chance we gotta take,” Micah says, following him to the table where Hosea sits.  


You don’t like the way Micah sounds, something seems off about it. You’re just about to say something to Dutch, to tell him this is a bad idea, when he holds a hand up to silence everyone.  


“I killed Colm’s brother, long time ago.” He takes a long pause, looking away. “Then he killed a woman I loved dear.”  


Micah sighs and leans his hands on the table. “As you say, Dutch. It’s a long time ago.”  


Dutch sighs and nods. You can tell by his eyes that he’s made a decision. “Let’s go. You and me,” he gestures to Micah. “With Arthur protecting us, no one else!”  


Pearson begins to argue until Dutch tells him this isn’t a good job for him. Arthur turns to you. You’re suddenly worried. From everything you’ve heard about the O’Driscolls, a parley seems like the last thing they’d want between them and Dutch.  


“It’ll be a’right,” Arthur says.  


“I don’t want you to go,” you say, clutching his arm.  


“Come on, Arthur!” Dutch calls from the back of his horse.  


Arthur just sighs before patting your arm and heading off to Artemis. You watch him leave with the other two.  


Pearson stands next to you, looking disappointed. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”  


He leads you over to his wagon, assigning you to cut up vegetables. The entire time, you can’t shake off the feeling that something’s wrong. You can’t stop thinking about how cozy Micah made it all sound, like it was going to be the easiest thing in the world.  


A few hours have gone by. You sit at the table with Hosea, playing a round of dominoes, losing the third round spectacularly.  


“You need to get your head in the game,” Hosea says, shuffling the tokens.  


“Sorry, Hosea. Just worried is all.”  


“I know what you mean. I don’t like it either. Traps are easy to spring, but this one feels wrong.”  


“These O’Driscolls. What’s the deal with them anyways?”  


“Ah, that’s a long and ugly story. Dutch and Colm used to have an understanding, of sorts. They never got along, per say, but they deliberately stayed out of each other’s way when it came to scores.”  


Hosea places down the double sixes token. You place down one of yours.  


“Well, Colm’s idiot brother showed up to a train robbery we was pulling some 15 or so years ago. Started getting snarky with us, trying to weasel a share, so Dutch shot him. Few months later, we found Dutch’s girl Annabelle dead in an old cabin. It was obvious Colm did it, he’d left enough messages around her body. Ever since then, they’ve been fighting over scores and trying to get the other killed or arrested.”  


You sit in silence for a moment, wondering what went through Dutch’s mind. You place your last token down. “Domino,” you say with little excitement. 

Hours have gone by since Arthur left with Micah and Dutch. The feeling of unease in your stomach has only grown stronger. You’ve been mixing your chores with a steady amount of pacing near the horses, waiting. You pass them now and Grimshaw marches over to you.  


“Miss Y/L/N!” She hollers. “I have had it! Go help the girls!”  


You quickly dodge her grasp and scurry over to Karen, sitting on a crate.  


“Ah, don’t worry,” Karen says. “They’ll be back soon.”  


You just smile at her and pick up a part of the awning Karen’s sewing, helping her. You glance up every few minutes, waiting for the men to come bounding in.  


After nearly an hour, you hear the sound of horses coming towards the camp. You abandon the awning and jog over to meet them. You spot Micah and his horse. He doesn’t even so much as look at you. Then Dutch appears, looking distraught. He sees you and his face falls. He stops and dismounts the Count.  


“Arthur?” you say expectantly. “Where is he?”  


Dutch pauses before placing a hand on your shoulder. He swallows heavily.  


“I… I’m real sorry, Y/N. Arthur’s dead.”


	15. Confessions of One's Sins

Warnings - blood, murder, swearing, death  


Word count - ~10,800

You hear a rushing sound in your ears, your heart begins to pound as your stomach tightens painfully.  


“Dead?” you say in a voice so steady you surprise yourself. “What do you mean?”  


Dutch explains how the situation with the O’Driscolls was indeed a trap, as everyone had suspected, but not set the way they had thought. Dutch tells you that Arthur, acting as their lookout on a cliff, was captured and dragged away. He and Micah followed the men’s trail. They found where the O’Driscolls had camped with nothing of Arthur except scraps of his clothes, his satchel and a large pool of blood.  


“I’m… I’m so sorry,” Dutch says again, gently squeezing your shoulder. You slap it off, anger and pain coursing through you.  


“No,” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “No, he’s not dead. Not Arthur. He can’t die.”  


“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says in a choked voice. “Micah and I searched, but we couldn’t find his body. I…”  


“Stop saying you’re sorry!” you suddenly scream. “You couldn’t find a body because there isn’t one! God damn it, Dutch Van der Linde!”  


The tears begin to fall and the rushing sound grows louder. You simply cannot believe that Arthur, your Arthur Morgan, is dead. He’s been shot at more times than you can count, gotten into more scrapes than anyone else you know yet he always comes out untouched. You expect to see him stomping in now on Artemis at any second, calling Bill on lookout duty a dumbass.  


“Y/N, believe me!” Dutch yells, unsuccessfully pulling you from that rushing sound, which is only growing louder. He gently grabs your shoulders. “We did everything we could to find him! But those men, we never found ‘em.”  


Micah walks over, wearing an unconvincing face of sadness. “Listen to Dutch, Y/N. Do you really think we would leave him if there was even a chance he was still alive?”  


The rushing sound suddenly stops. Without thinking or hesitating, you turn and thrust your fist into Micah’s face, feeling it connecting with his jaw. He takes several steps back, grunting.  


“You son of a bitch!” you shriek. “This was your idea! Your idea!”  


You’re about to leap on him, to attack him further, when two people grab your arms and start pulling you back. You don’t stop screaming profanities at Micah, wishing him nothing but pain. Dutch steps quickly between the two of you, holding out an arm to Micah to prevent him coming at you.  


“Y/N!” he yells, his brow furrowed. “That’s enough! Javier, Charles, take her away!”  


The two men obey silently and drag you over to your tent. Arthur’s tent. You still scream, though you don’t know what you’re saying or who you’re screaming at. When they get you to the tent, Javier releases your arm and takes a hesitant step back.  


“It’ll be okay, miss. You’ll be okay.”  


The tears spill heavily from your eyes. Charles pulls you into a tight hug, which you accept, crying into his shoulder. He pats your back.  


“Arthur was a good man, Y/N,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m sure he was thinking of you until the end.”  


You feel your gut tighten more, your fists clench his shirt. Physical pain rips through your chest as the sobs come. Charles holds you close, letting you soak his shirt.  


When you’ve cried yourself dry, he lets you go. Grimshaw walks over, her face sullen.  


“Come on, dear. Come get something to drink,” she says kindly as Charles leaves your tent.  


You shake your head. “No, he’s… he’s out there. He needs help.”  


Grimshaw places a hand on your shoulder, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I know it’s hard to accept, dear. None of us want to believe it. But if he could be here, he’d want you to take care of yourself.”  


“If he were here, I wouldn’t be like this!” you snap. You don’t mean to be rude to Susan, you know she’s only trying to help. Why can’t anyone else understand that there’s simply no way Arthur could be dead? He’s too tough to die. You decide you need to find out for yourself.  


“I… I need to get out of here, Susan,” you say with a slight creak in your voice. “I can’t be here!”  


Susan puts an arm around your shoulders and guides you to sit down on the cot. “I don’t want ya going anywhere, dear. Let me take care of you, try to get some rest.”  


You realize you won’t be able to go anywhere while the others are watching you, so you simply nod.  


“I… I think I’m gonna lie down,” you say. Susan nods and stands up only to sit down in the chair. The same chair Arthur used to sit in when you were brought back from Roanoke Ridge.  


You lie down and turn so your back faces her. A large ball has formed in your throat which you can’t get rid of, and your chest feels tight. You pretend to fall asleep, trying to calm down the shaking in your limbs.  


The sun finally sets, the camp’s unusually quiet. You hear voices coming from the fire, though you don’t know nor care who’s talking. Dutch hasn’t come to see you, not that you want him to. You prefer he stays away, feeling like he’s betrayed Arthur. You wonder for the hundredth time what happened with the O’Driscolls.  


Grimshaw has stayed seated in the chair, gently humming and reading a book. You’re glad to not be alone, although you’d prefer to be out there, following the trail Dutch and the others took to meet the O’Driscolls.  


The moon rises, bathing the lake in silver. You hear Grimshaw stand up and feel her pull the blanket over you. You don’t move, despite being incredibly stiff from not having stirred the last couple of hours. You hear her quietly walk out of the tent, the camp is completely silent.  


When you’re sure Grimshaw’s far enough away, you sit up and throw off the blanket. You hastily grab a few provisions, stuffing them into your satchel. You get up and tip toe over to Rannoch.  


“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice says to you, only a few feet behind you. You recognize it belonging to Hosea. You turn and look at him.  


“I have to know for myself,” you say, a tear falling from your eye.  


Hosea simply nods, his face thoughtful. He puts a warm hand on your shoulder.  


“Go. Find him and bring him back to us,” he says before walking away.  


You pat Rannoch’s neck before climbing onto his back and trot through the trees. Lenny gives you a mournful farewell.  


Once out of Clemens Point, you stop on the trail and think of where they would have gone. You know that the O’Driscolls never leave New Hanover or West Elizabeth, so the only way you’ve left to go is west and north. You sigh. There is a lot of west and north.  


You kick Rannoch into a gallop, heading up towards Dewberry Creek. You cross the railroad and come to a stop, wondering where to go next. You pull out your map and inspect it, wishing Micah or Pearson had mentioned where the O’Driscolls had told them to meet. Then you think of Kieran, who would probably know better than anyone about their movements. You don’t want to return to camp though. Not yet. Not until you know. You figure, after inspecting the map, they likely met somewhere in the Heartlands or possibly somewhere near the Dakota River. Possibly even the bridge near Flatneck Station.  


You begin with the Heartlands, despite its size. By the time dawn comes, you’ve reached the abandoned oil rig, finding nothing but a large skull of a long-dead predator in the bottom of the well and the burnt corpse of a long-dead man on the boardwalk.  


You’re exhausted by this point, having not slept for so long and having been so distraught. Despite your desire to continue searching, you pitch camp not far from the oil rig. A rabbit foolishly wanders close just as your forming a fire pit and begins nibbling on a yarrow stem. You take it down swiftly with a bullet from your gold double-action revolver. You stare at the gun, remembering how Arthur had given it to you after you had robbed the wagon with him. You try swallowing the ball in your throat once more with no success.  


You quickly skin and cook the rabbit, though you’ve little appetite for it. You pack up the remainder of the cooked meat and wander into your tent, crawling into your bedroll to sleep. Somehow you do, despite all that has happened. 

Night has fallen once more and you travel in the darkness, heading further west, looking up into the full moon. You stare at a ridge not far ahead of you, a single glittering tree standing on it. Glittering?  


You canter Rannoch up to it and see that a countless number of people have tied empty whisky bottles to its branches; they sway gently in the breeze. You spot on the ground broken bottles that have fallen and something catches your eye. An unopened can of beans lying not far from the trail.  


Dismounting Rannoch, you approach it and pick it up. You wonder why someone would leave an unopened can of beans on the trail. Upon further inspection of the ground, you find traces of a possible struggle. Freshly kicked up dirt among the hoof prints, an imprint of where a body had lain. You’ve no idea who or what was laid there, but you wonder if it was Arthur. It looks to be about his size.  


You follow the trail of hoof prints, heading further west towards Flatneck Station and the long railroad bridge beyond it. You follow it in the dim light. You come across the remains of a camp, the coals of the fire cold and black. You find traces of where people had slept and a few yards off, a large pool of blood. You recall Micah and Dutch explaining how they had followed the O’Driscolls only to find a camp with blood, clothes and his satchel in it. You don’t find any of the other things Micah described. You examine the blood closer. Sure, it’s a big pool, but not enough to prove the person it belonged to is dead. You follow the horse tracks out of the camp until they disappear on the railroad tracks. You stare out on the huge bridge expanding over the Dakota river, bathed in moonlight.  


You jab your heels into Rannoch’s side. He snorts loudly and canters down the bridge. As you near the middle of it, a large owl, sitting on the rail, takes up into the air with a proud screech. You watch it soar up into the air, heading west along with you, almost like a silent and ghostly guide.  


You reach the other side of the bridge where the owl abandons you, fluttering towards the thick trees north with a final hoot. You stop Rannoch, inspecting the ground for signs of tracks. You find nothing, but below on the trail beneath the bridge, you spot a single rider, rifle pointing up into the air. He’s heading west, a dead deer strapped to his horse. You take out your binoculars and pear at him, spotting his green shirt. An O’Driscoll?  


You lead Rannoch into the cover of the trees, watching him silently. When he’s far enough ahead of you to not become suspicious, you follow him. You don’t have to follow him for long until he happens upon a tiny cabin with an even tinier shed a few yards from it. For such a small place, there’s multiple men standing about it. Their horses are tied to a post near a fire. You spot Artemis among them and your breath catches in your throat. You whisper her name, wishing she could hear you.  


You stop beneath a large tree and dismount Rannoch, pulling out your semi-automatic shotgun and Springfield rifle. You stand behind the trunk and pull out your binoculars again, counting the men. You see four of them, standing around and holding rifles. A man appears from behind the house wearing a hat over his shoulder-length dark hair. You spot the white shirt and dark tie on him before he mounts a horse and runs off.  


You hunker down once he’s out of sight and run towards the cabin, using bushes and trees to take cover in. You pull out your hunting knife once you’re a few yards from one of the men. He turns his back to you, coughing slightly. You run up quietly behind him and shove the knife into his throat. He gurgles and you gently guide him down to the ground. You drag his body into the bush you’d been hiding in.  


You spot two more men, standing close to the horses and the fire. You silently approach them, stopping behind a large crate.  


“How long we gotta stay here watchin’ this bastard?” one of the men asks in a heavy Irish accent.  


“I dunno. Until that arsehole shows up, I guess,” his companion says.  


You take out one of your throwing knives, hoping you can do the task silently. Both men’s backs are turned to you, staring into the night as though expecting someone. You throw it, aiming for the man closest to you. It strikes into his upper back and he falls. His companion turns and spots you.  


“Hey! We got someone!” he hollers, pointing his rifle at you. You swing the Springfield off your shoulder and shoot him, but it’s too late. His yell has attracted the last guard, who comes barreling towards you. You pull out your lasso quickly and throw it, catching him.  


“Hey!” he yells as you pull him off his feet. You run over, the adrenaline pumping loudly in your ears as you tie him up. You turn him on his back to face you.  


“You have a prisoner? Huh?” you spit, holding a fist above his face.  


“What’s it matter to you, girlie?” he snarls.  


“It matters, your life depends on it,” you say.  


“Yeah we got a prisoner. He ain’t nowhere near here!”  


You punch him as hard as you can, he spits blood into your face.  


“Son of a bitch,” you mutter before wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing. He gurgles, his feet kick beneath you, still bound by ropes. After a few seconds, he lies still.  


Not bothering to untie him, you run over to the cabin where you find cellar doors, locked shut. You pull out your revolver and shoot it. You struggle slightly to pull open the heavy doors. You stand at the top of the stairs, suddenly scared of what you might find.  


A small grunt comes from the semi-darkness and you charge down the stairs. You find Arthur, hanging upside down from the ceiling, stripped down to his union suit.  


“Arthur!” your voice comes out strained.  


“Y/N,” he mumbles as you rush over. You struggle with the rope around his feet, trying to untie it. His weight prevents it, so you pull out your knife again.  


“Sorry about this,” you say. He doesn’t respond as you cut the binds holding him up. He falls heavily, grunting again. You drop your knife and kneel next to him, spotting the large wound in his shoulder. Tears fall from your eyes as you take the hood off his head and hold his head to your chest.  


“Ah, Y/N,” he says in a course voice. “Thank God.”  


“I knew you were alive!” you sob into his hair. “I just knew it.”  


The hand of his good arm comes up, clutching you with surprising strength. You release him from your chest. “What did that?” you gesture to his shoulder with a heavy sniff.  


“Shotgun,” he grunts, wincing. “Fool… weren’t a very good shot. Lucky to still have my shoulder.”  


“Come on,” you say, standing up. You pull him up with some difficulty, causing him to moan. “We need to get that buckshot out.”  


You guide him to a seat next to a desk with a single candle on it. He leans back in the chair, his eyes looking up into your face. You feel your heart break at his pained expression.  


“It’s deep, Arthur,” you say, inspecting the wound. You unbutton his union suit, exposing his shoulder. He winces again.  


“Sorry,” you say. You find a metal file on the table. You pick it up and examine it before looking at Arthur’s shoulder.  


“This is gonna hurt like hell,” you say, looking at him uncertainly.  


“Just do it, darlin’,” he grunts.  


You hesitate, holding the file and pointing it towards him. You suck in your breath and you push it into his shoulder, apologizing over and over again as he groans and winces. You see tears in his eyes as he tilts his head back. You try to dig as little as possible, ignoring the wet sounds coming from his shoulder. After a moment, you feel the file connect with something that seems like metal. With delicacy, you pull it out, watching the bullet fall.  


Arthur sighs heavily. You pull out a bottle of whisky from your satchel. “Drink this, it’ll help,” you say. He takes it gratefully with his good arm and takes a deep swig.  


You take the file again, wiping the blood off on your shirt. You then hover the file over the candle until the tip steams, just barely glowing red.  


“I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say, pulling the file out of the fire. “This is gonna hurt.”  


“It’s fine. I hardly feel it.”  


You take in a breath once more and then shove the file in, cauterizing the wound. He yells out in pain, the smell of burning flesh filling your nostrils. You swallow the bile rising in your throat and take the file away, inspecting it. The hole is now closed, charred flesh peaking through. You quickly button up his union suit so you no longer have to look at it.  


“Come on, we need to get you home,” you say, taking his good arm and putting it behind your neck, lifting him. He grunts as you hobble with him up the stairs and into the moonlight.  


“Wait,” he says. “Wait, my… my guns.”  


With his arm, he points to the shed.  


“Can you stand?” you ask. He nods, so you let him go and dash over to the shed where you find a chest. Opening it, you find his gun belt, weapons and his satchel. You grab them and go back to him, whistling for Rannoch. You throw them over him before turning to Arthur.  


“Can you ride?” you ask. He nods, taking a step towards you. He whistles for Artemis.  


The giant warhorse trots over to him, neighing deeply. With difficulty, you help him mount his horse. You climb up and sit in front of him.  


“Hold onto me, Arthur.”  


His arms wind around you and his head settles onto your shoulder. You take Artemis’s reins and click at Rannoch, commanding him to follow. You push your heels into Artemis’s side and pat her neck.  


“Take us home, girl,” you say, swallowing a fresh wave of sobs. 

The horizon is turning pink and blue as you trot slowly through the trees towards Clemens Point. You’ve done the best you can to not cry all the way home, though you can feel yourself barely holding on. Arthur’s kept a surprisingly strong grip around your waist, but you can tell from his panting he’s in bad shape.  


The light of the campfires glint through the trees and you sigh in relief, patting Arthur’s hand on your hip. “We’re home, honey! We’re home,” you say in an exhausted tone. He simply grunts in response.  


You pull Artemis to a stop by the hitching post. Hosea, sitting under his canopy on his cot, looks up at the sound of her hooves.  


“Y/N, Arthur!” he calls out. His voice attracts several of the others, including Dutch. You climb off the horse and Javier helps you guide Arthur gently off her. He groans heavily. Once he’s down, Lenny goes to his other side, draping Arthur’s arm across his shoulder.  


“Arthur!” Dutch says desperately. “Arthur, my boy!”  


“I told you, Dutch!” you say angrily. “I told you he’s alive!”  


The anger that’s been boiling inside you reaches its peak. You march over to him, stopping him from approaching Arthur as Javier and Lenny lead him off to his tent.  


“Dutch, tell me,” you demand, your clenched fists shaking. You might be nearly a head shorter than he, but he almost seems to cower at your glare. “Did you even bother looking for him? Sure, you found the camp with his blood, but did you bother to look beyond that?”  


He begins stammering, explaining how he and Micah had searched the area, looking for clues.  


“I spent not even five minutes at that camp and I found him in half an hour!” you scream. He takes a step back. “You just saw the blood and came to the conclusion that Arthur, the man you claim to be your son, was killed!”  


Hosea steps up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.  


“Y/N, now is not the time for this!”  


You’re about to ignore him and continue screaming at Dutch when Grimshaw marches over to you.  


“Y/N! I need your help!”  


“I ain’t doin’ them damn chores right now, Susan!” you yell.  


She puts her hands on her hips and glares at you. “The only chore I was gonna give ya is to stop hollerin’ and help me with Arthur!”  


She and Hosea grab your arms and guide you over to your shared tent. You hear Dutch give a relieved sigh as you leave. You approach the tent and find Arthur lying on his back in his cot. You soften at the sight of him, looking so fragile and helpless.  


“Stay with him, girl,” Grimshaw says softly. “He needs you now.”  


You nod your head as Hosea pulls over the chair, instructing you to sit. Grimshaw inspects the wound in his shoulder and grabs a rag, soaking it in whisky before gently dabbing it onto him. Arthur shakes her off, groaning. After a moment, she takes the blanket and slides it over his shivering form.  


“Y/N, stay with him. Let me know if there’s anything you need,” she says to you before heading off.  


Hosea looks sadly down at him and sighs. He turns his face to you.  


“Y/N, you look exhausted,” he says gently. “Get some rest.”  


You nod, unable to speak due to the large ball in your throat making a reappearance. Hosea pats your shoulder and leaves, closing the tent flaps behind him.  


You stare at Arthur for a few moments, some tears escaping. His forehead is shiny with sweat; you can see him trembling with his eyes closed. He suddenly jumps, leaning up on his good arm.  


“Y/N!” he grunts loudly.  


“I’m here,” you say, getting up to sit down on the bed, taking his hand. “I’m here.”  


He visibly relaxes, laying down again. “Thought…” he swallows. “Thought I heard ya screamin’.”  


“I was. At Dutch.”  


He huffs slightly. “Good. Thought ya was hurt.”  


“No,” you rub your thumb across his hand and wipe your cheeks dry. He closes his eyes again. WIthin seconds, he’s asleep. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. You go and sit down in the chair, tucking his hand back under the blanket. You lean back, completely exhausted. You wish you could curl up with Arthur, but you don’t want to disturb him now that he’s sleeping so soundly. You sigh and rest your head on your hand and somehow end up falling asleep. 

Over the next few days, Arthur becomes feverish. You and Grimshaw do everything you can to keep him comfortable. Luckily, most of the time he spends sleeping, waking only long enough to eat. You don’t know what you would do without Grimshaw’s help. The only chore she assigns you is to care for Arthur, though she occasionally brings you some sewing so you at least have something to do.  


It’s been three days since you’ve returned and Hosea approaches you in your shared tent.  


“How’s he doing?” he asks quietly.  


You explain that his wound will be fine as long as it doesn’t get infected. You also mention his fever.  


“Well,” he sighs, smiling at you. “Sounds like he’s got the best care there is. He’ll be fine. By the way, I found something at the store while I was in town.”  


He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thick book. He looks at the dark blue cover. “Arthur mentioned your grandmother read you a book when you were young, but you couldn’t remember the title. Said you named your horse after the main character.”  


“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling. You wish you could remember the title, but you had been too young the last time she had read it.  


“Does this look familiar?” he asks, handing you the book.  


You read the title. “Fire Bringer,” you say, rubbing the gold-stenciled picture of a stag on the cover. You open the book and read the first few lines. Immediately, you know it’s the one.  


“Thank you, Hosea,” you say, sniffing. You’ve been on the brink of tears since you brought Arthur back. Seeing the book you loved so much as a child brings you to the edge again. He nods understandingly. He pats your shoulder before leaving.  


You want nothing more than to dive into this book, to relive the gorgeous descriptions, meet the proud characters. It almost feels like being reunited with an old friend. You resist by remembering how Arthur had brought you Black Beauty when you’d been injured. He hadn’t read any of it unless you were awake. You’re determined to do the same thing for him now.  


You set the book down on the table next to his bed, barely glancing at the photos of his mother and Mary. You’ve wondered frequently why he still keeps the photo of Mary near, but you’ve never asked. You adjust the blanket, retucking in the ends of it, before heading out of the tent. You make your way over to the main campfire, scooping yourself a plate of stew.  


“Hola, Y/N,” Javier greets you, grabbing himself a plate.  


“Hello, Javier.”  


“Hope you’re not too mad at me,” he says with a smile.  


“Why would I be mad at you?”  


“For dragging you away from Dutch. Looked like you were settled on the idea of hitting him.”  


You realize he’s joking, which you appreciate. “Nah, of course not. Nothing good would have come from that. Dutch, he’s not a bad guy. He’s just....”  


You don’t really know how you feel about Dutch at this moment. Before Arthur had been kidnapped, you never questioned the man’s loyalty to his own gang members. Now, after seeing him come so quickly to the conclusion of Arthur’s death, you’re beginning to question. Not that you’d ever admit this to anyone. You know loyalty is important to Dutch and if you were to begin openly questioning it, it would only bring bad things your way.  


“Dutch must have been in a bad place, seeing all that blood,” Javier says, pulling you from your thoughts. “People react different ways when people they love vanish like that.”  


You just nod, not really knowing what to say. You leave the fire, heading over to the lake with your stew. You pass the table where you’ve played poker in the past. Bill sits there alone now, nursing a bottle.  


“Hey, Y/N,” he says, gesturing to you. “Come take a load off. Have a drink with me.”  


Considering how long you’ve been with the gang, you know relatively little about Bill, except that he was dishonorably discharged from the army (though he denies it), his real name is Marion and he gets mouthy when drunk. You can tell from his eyes that he’s already over the edge.  


“No thanks, Bill,” you say. “Maybe another time.”  


“I said sit down and have a goddamn drink with me!” he says, his words slightly slurred.  


“And I said no thank you!”  


You stomp off, going to sit down on the log by the lake as you hear Bill curse behind you. You eye the uneaten stew in your plate, although you’re not remotely interested in it. You haven’t eaten much since you’ve returned. With resignation, you sigh and eat as much of the stew as you can manage, knowing you need to take care of yourself.  


After you finish eating, you sit still in the moonlight, watching the water wave back and forth before you. You don’t think of anything in particular as you listen to the sounds of the fires behind you, the faint murmur of voices. A coyote somewhere far off howls. A breeze picks up, playing in your hair. You decide to go back to your tent to make sure Arthur isn’t cold.  


You draw back one of the tent flaps enough to slide inside, where you find Dutch and Hosea. No doubt Dutch saw you leave the tent and took his opportunity to come and see Arthur, who’s awake. He looks considerably better, the color’s beginning to return to his face and he’s no longer trembling. They fall silent upon your return.  


“Y/N,” Dutch says respectfully when he sees you. He’s been careful to steer clear of you since your return, probably scared of whatever verbal lashing you’ve got prepared for him. “Will you kindly fetch Arthur something to eat?”  


You nod before looking over at Arthur, your eyes meeting briefly. You’re sure Dutch wants to speak privately with Arthur. You dish up another plate and bring it back to the tent. The voices inside fall silent once you enter. You set the plate on the table and approach Arthur, helping him to sit up.  


“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, wincing a bit. You’re glad to hear him speak, as he’s hardly done so since his return.  


“Y/N,” Dutch says, handing Arthur his dinner. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes?”  


You look up at him and debate on arguing, wanting to state that after he so readily gave up he doesn’t deserve to be alone with Arthur. You look over at Hosea, who shakes his head so slightly only you would catch it. You silently stand up and make your way out, but you stop at the door of the tent, letting the flap slide closed.  


“Not the forgiving type, is she?” Dutch says.  


“She has her reasons,” you barely hear Arthur say.  


“Don’t know how many times I apologized to her for… everything.” You can tell by the grunt in his voice he’s sitting down.  


“We all wanted to look for him, Dutch,” Hosea says. “Even I had my doubts on your assurity.”  


A brief moment of silence passes before Dutch speaks again. “I never actually found that camp where those animals shot you, Arthur. Micah found it. The way he told it made it sound like there was a lot more to it. But Y/N said when she found the camp there wasn’t enough to say that you had been killed.”  


He pauses a moment. “If I had seen the camp myself, I would’ve known. I would’ve known you were out there, alive at least.”  


“I keep tellin’ ya, Dutch,” Arthur says quietly. “I keep tellin’ ya how I feel about Micah.”  


“I know, but he’s profoundly sorry about it all,” Dutch says.  


You doubt that. Micah’s hardly been around since you returned and he’s done nothing to show he’s sorry. The one time you have seen him, he was nursing a large bruise on his jaw from where you had hit him and he had been looking at Arthur in anger. The look had confused you but you’ve hardly given it a second thought.  


The next few moments, Dutch tells how the O’Driscolls had refused on a parley when they had met, how Colm had been more interested in trying to insult Dutch and rage him into a fight. He said that after a while, Colm had simply told him to enjoy his gang while they were still by his side and then he had left.  


“If I had known then what he had meant,” Dutch says heavily, “I would have been more worried.”  


“Colm set that trap for me, Dutch,” Arthur says, his voice a bit stronger. “He told me everything. He figured if he could get me, you’d come to the rescue, guns blazin’ and he’d snag you and turn you into the folks at Blackwater. Figured it’d buy him a way out.”  


“That bastard. I swear to you, Arthur,” Dutch growls, “he will pay for this.”  


“Thought we weren’t in the revenge business, Dutch. I ain’t dead, you ain’t captured. That’s all that matters”  


“I don’t care. Sure, I stole his score by takin’ those train plans. But this… this I cannot forgive.”  


“Now ain’t the time to be worrying about Colm O’Driscoll,” Hosea says. “Thought we was tryin’ to rob from these two families, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Think the O’Driscolls can wait for now.”  


Another few moments pass in silence.  


“You found yourself quite a woman, Arthur,” Dutch says finally. You can hear the smile in his voice. “When… when she came in with you, I honestly thought she was going to shoot me.”  


You hear Arthur chuckle.  


“She gave Micah quite a good mark,” Hosea adds with a laugh.  


“She hit Micah?” Arthur asks.  


“Oh, yes. When we came back thinkin’...,” Dutch pauses again, “Micah tried to reason with her and she just walloped him.”  


The three laugh a bit, pulling a reluctant smile from you.  


“To be honest, I’ve been a little… hesitant to be around her,” Dutch says. “Pretty sure if she had the chance, she’d hit me too.”  


“Awe, I wouldn’t worry about that too much, Dutch,” Arthur says. “She ain’t dumb.”  


“Well, I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Dutch chuckles. You hear the sound of something being patted and then the sounds of Dutch and Hosea standing.  


“Now you get some rest, son,” Dutch says. “With that girl of yours looking after you, you’ll be up in no time.”  


You hear their feet shuffling towards the entrance of the tent, so you scurry away towards Rannoch make it look like you weren’t spying. You watch from the corner of your eye as Dutch and Hosea walk through the tent flaps and off to the main campfire. You give Rannoch an affectionate pat on the neck before approaching your tent once more.  


Sliding in through the flap, you see Arthur finishing the last bite of his stew. He smiles when he sees it’s you.  


“Hi,” you say almost shyly, although you’re not sure why.  


“Hey there,” he responds with a smile.  


You approach him and offer to take his plate.  


“Just set it on the table,” he instructs.  


You give him a curious look but comply. When you’ve set it down, you feel his arm loop around your waist. He suddenly pulls you down so you’re sitting on his lap.  


“Oof! Arthur!” you say, readjusting yourself. “Careful, I don’t wanna hurt you.”  


He smiles at you, his hands sliding over your back. “Awe, I’m fine, darlin’. All thanks to you.”  


You blush and look down.  


“You don’t have to thank me, Arthur. After all, you came looking for me when I was lost.”  


He takes a finger to your chin, lifting your face to meet his. Without another word, he leans towards you and places his lips against yours. You sigh into the kiss and slide your hands up his chest, carefully avoiding his bad shoulder.  


He pulls away just briefly. “Mm, never thought I’d get to feel that again.”  


You smile and kiss him again, deeper than the last. His hands slide across your back and then downwards, squeezing your backside.  


“Arthur!” you giggle against his lips. He joins in, his deep voice travelling through your chest.  


“Can’t blame me, can ya?” he says. You look in his eyes and see the same hunger you’re feeling.  


You sigh and pull away again. “Arthur, I’d… I’d love to, but I ain’t sure your body can handle that strain right now.”  


“Awe, I’m fine, darlin,” he purrs in your ear. “Just a gunshot.”  


You grin and huff at him. “Just a gunshot? You’re lucky to still have your shoulder! You said so yourself!”  


He chuckles again, tilting his head back.  


“A’right, fine! Ya got me!”  


You lean in and cuddle into his chest, resting your head beneath his chin. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’ll make it up to you once you’ve healed a bit more.”  


His hands come up again, one settling against your back and the other rubs your arm. You stay that way for a few moments; you happily listen to the steady beating of his heart. The sound is far more comforting than it was before that whole mess with the O’Driscolls.  


After a while, you lean back from him again.  


“What is it?” he asks.  


You smile at him. “Hosea brought us something to pass the time while you recuperate.”  


You lean over and grab the book from the table. You turn in his lap so your back is propped against his chest. His arms loop around your waist, he clasps his hands together on your stomach. You feel him rest his chin on your shoulder.  


“What’s that you got there?” he asks.  


“A book,” you say sarcastically. You practically hear his eyes roll.  


“I know that, darlin’.”  


You giggle and tilt the cover so he can read the title.  


“Fire Bringer? Never heard of it.”  


“I’m not surprised, you being such a big reader.”  


Another eye roll. You pat his hand before running a finger over the stenciled stag again.  


“Hosea found it in Rhodes. Said the main character is named Rannoch,” you explain.  


Arthur sits quietly for a moment before he speaks. “Rannoch. Didn’t you say you named your horse that because of a book?”  


You nod your head, the ball arising in your throat again, grateful that he remembers. “Yeah. The one my grandmother used to read to me before she… before she passed.”  


You feel Arthur’s lips brush against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you. You turn and see his eyes studying the golden stag. A strange expression has come to his face.  


“What is it?” you ask.  


“Nothing. It’s just…” he pauses. “You know how when you’re real sick you get them fever dreams?”  


You nod.  


“Well, when you brought me back, I had a… a strange dream.”  


“Like a nightmare?”  


“No. It weren’t scary. More comforting, I guess.”  


His eyes glaze a bit as he recalls the dream.  


“I saw a meadow. All golden in the afternoon sun. And in it was a real big buck like that one,” he points to the stag on the cover. “Real proud it was. Just walking through the grass. That’s it, and I just kept seeing it, over and over again.”  


You sit silent for a moment, imagining what he described.  


“Wonder what it means?” he says.  


“I don’t know, Arthur. Y’know, I remember when I was a kid and I’d see big bucks in the forest, I always felt like they had a story to tell, and all we had to do was listen.”  


Another moment of silence passes. Arthur’s chin settles on your shoulder again.  


“Is this that story?” he asks gently, brushing a hand over the cover.  


“Maybe. It’s been a long time since I… since my grandmother read it to me. I don’t remember a lot of it.”  


“Let’s read it then,” he says, kissing your skin once more.  


You smile and look at him as he lifts his head. “You wanna do the honors?” you ask, offering him the book.  


“No, darlin’. It’s your book, it’s your story. You read it.”  


“Okay,” you say, placing a soft kiss on his lips once more. You settle your back more comfortably against his chest before flipping open the cover.

Four weeks have gone by since you brought Arthur back to camp. It’s been slow-going with the camp as no progress has been made with either the Grays or the Braithwaites nor has there been any word regarding the O’Driscolls. You can tell Dutch is getting anxious, claiming no one is doing their part in bringing money to the camp. You find this claim to be ludicrous because several of the others, mostly John, Charles and Javier, have been picking up the slack for Arthur. You overhear Javier telling Mary-Beth as he plays the guitar how much he hadn’t realized how much Arthur did for the camp before.  


You’ve been working a lot, too, in order to help. While you stay around camp as much as possible to care for Arthur, you have to leave every couple of days, mostly to hunt so Pearson’s cooking doesn’t get too lean. You also go on a couple of robberies with Sean, Lenny and even Charles.  


Arthur has vastly improved from his first few days. His fever disappeared during the first week and his strength quickly returned. He’s no longer restricted to your shared cot and can even do work in the camp, except Grimshaw’s firm on him not lifting anything too heavy, or chopping wood which you find to be a bit of a letdown. Every once in a while, you’ll see him wince or clutch at his shoulder, but other than that he doesn’t complain. Sometimes when you settle down for the night with him, he’ll express how much he wishes he could get out there again, go hunting, fishing or even just go for a ride on Artemis. You promise him that you’ll take him for a trip once he’s well enough to do so.  


The down times you take with Arthur are by far your favorite. At least for a couple of hours a day, you and Arthur retreat to your shared tent. Sometimes you make love, although it’s not as passionate as it had been in Strawberry. You can tell Arthur’s nervous about getting caught in camp. Other times, you sit in each other’s embrace and he insists you read from the book that Hosea brought you. Considering that you only learned to read a few months ago, you’re able to read the book with ease, although a few words will still cause you to falter and Arthur will help.  


You sit on your cot now between Arthur’s legs, the book propped open on your lap as you read from it. You’re very near the end of it, which causes some sadness within you. You’ve loved reliving the book, remembering scenes and characters you’d forgotten about. Arthur has told you he’s been enjoying it, too, and you can tell by his eyes he’s being honest.  


You reach the end of the chapter, and you yawn, stretching your arms up. Arthur chuckles, catching the cover of the book so it doesn’t close in the absence of your grip.  


“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, placing your bookmark. “Think it’s time for bed.”  


“No,” you quietly say, sliding your hand across the back cover. “We can finish it tonight! We’re getting to the good parts!”  


He laughs again, taking the book from your hands and setting it on the table. “I know we could, but we got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”  


“I think you mean the usual amount.”  


He shuffles in the cot so he can lay down. You hesitate and then join him, curling against his chest.  


“Actually,” he says, rubbing your back, “Dutch wants me to meet Bill, Sean and Micah in town tomorrow. Somethin’ to do with the Grays.”  


You look up at him. “You think you’re well enough?” You pull at his union suit to reveal what’s left of his wound. At this point, it’s healed into a large, dark spot and a divot in his flesh. You’re grateful, the charred flesh had been an eyesore. You know he’ll have a scar there for the rest of his life. Recently he’s become quite self conscious about it, mostly around you since you’re really the only one who sees it. He drags your hand away now to hide it once more but he doesn’t let go of your hand.  


“I’ll be fine, darlin’,” he says. “Should be an easy job. Probably just robbin’ more of that Braithwaite moonshine anyways.”  


“Well, okay,” you say. You kiss him briefly. “Just promise me you’ll come back right after? I don’t want you gallivanting off someplace the way you sometimes do.”  


He smiles. “I promise, princess.” 

You wake up to the sounds of Molly screaming at Dutch in their tent only a few feet from yours. It’s nothing new really. Since the gang arrived in Clemens Point, they’ve been arguing more and more. At first, you had no clue as to why, but since their tent is so close, you’ve been able to pick up what their problems are.  


“You haven’t touched me in weeks!” Molly says in her thick accent.  


“And what exactly is it you want from me?” he snaps.  


“To be treated with some respect! A little affection, at least!”  


“You think this is the way to a man’s affection? Nagging him all the time? I am trying to read here!”  


“You’re a bastard, Dutch Van der Linde!”  


You clear your throat, feeling more awkward by the second. You hate eavesdropping on them this way, but it’s not like they’re being quiet about it.  


You feel a bit sorry for Molly. Sure, when you first met her, she spent most of her time in Dutch’s tent, brushing her hair or inspecting her face in her pocket mirror. You had barely seen her do any work, except on occasion she would clean dishes for Pearson. It was clear she had come from a privileged background, so doing mediocre work like this was probably not something she was used to. You know very little about how she ended up here with Dutch, but it’s perfectly clear she loves him. You have a nasty idea that Dutch does not feel the same way. You had witnessed him a week ago flirting with Mary-Beth while she was reading.  


A few days after that, you heard Molly shouting at Dutch, saying that she’d noticed the way he had been looking at an unnamed her. Dutch had told Molly she was being ridiculous, brushing off her accusations. Later that day, you’d overheard her and Abigail talking. She had told Abigail that she loved him and was sure he loved her, but Abigail tried to make her see reason. You can understand why Abigail has given up on the notion of love, her and John have done nothing but either ignore each other or argue. Molly, however, has not experienced that kind of letdown.  


You sometimes wish you could speak with Molly. However, whenever the rare chance to do so comes by, it never happens. She often looks at you like you’re beneath her, and the few times you’ve greeted her, she’s acted like she hasn’t even the faintest interest to talk with you.  


“They at it again?” Arthur groans beneath you, ripping you from your thoughts. He rubs his hand over his eyes.  


“Yeah,” you say, leaning into his chest again.  


He sighs, his arm draping over you once more.  


“You remember how happy they used to be?” you ask quietly.  


“Who?” Arthur says, his eyes closed again.  


“Them. Molly and Dutch?”  


You silently recall seeing them in Horseshoe Overlook dancing the night Sean returned. You remember the wide grin Molly wore, the way Dutch chuckled and his eyes sparkled. Now whenever you see them together, they always seem to trade a look of contempt.  


Arthur sighs again. “Dutch’s in a hard place with her, darlin’.” He pauses. “After Annabelle died, he’s made his way through a few women. Molly’s just the most recent.”  


You’re a bit taken aback by the nonchalant tone Arthur’s taken. He talks as though Dutch viewed these women the same way he used his books. You know Evelyn Miller is his favorite author, he quotes the man often enough. You’ve also seen the other few books on his shelf. They would assuredly be collecting a thick layer of dust if camp hadn’t moved so often.  


“How do you mean?” you ask.  


Arthur stays silent for a moment. “Annabelle was real special to Dutch. Love of his life, I reckon. You think he looked happy in Horseshoe Overlook with Molly, well, that weren’t nothin’ compared to how he was with Annebelle. When she died, it… changed him. Like I said, Molly ain’t the first woman he’s been with since Annebelle.”  


“What happened to the others?”  


“Most of them just drifted away. Few of them ever stayed in camp the way Molly does. Then again, none of them came so far neither.”  


He explains how Molly arrived by boat from Scotland years ago. She had come from a wealthy family, but her parents had died in a fire. After that, Molly and most of her siblings left their hometown. Arthur said he thought most of them had stayed in Scotland; only Molly had come to America to start a new life. That was how she met Dutch. They had bumped into each other on the street and he offered to buy her a few drinks. When she told him she had nowhere to go and almost no money, he had invited her to come to camp and begin anew with him.  


“That was about five years ago. They been in love ever since,” Arthur finishes.  


“You’re a no-good, degenerate liar!” you hear Molly snarl at Dutch from their tent. “You hear me? You’re exactly what you say you aren’t!”  


“Whatever you say, miss,” Dutch responds in a tired voice.  


Arthur sighs again. “Well, guess I should say they been in love until now.”  


You lie against Arthur in silence for a few moments. The arguing has finally stopped. You figure Molly has marched off somewhere else. You silently listen to Arthur’s steady breathing, his heart pumping in your ears.  


“Are you decent?” Dutch’s voice comes from outside your tent.  


“One second, Dutch,” Arthur says. He quickly pats your shoulder before sliding out from under you and standing. He puts his pants on over his union suit and slides his suspender straps over his shoulders. You admire his muscled back a moment before he walks out of the tent.  


While the men talk outside, you get up and start getting dressed yourself. By the time you’re lacing your boots up, Arthur walks back in.  


“What’s going on?” you ask.  


“Oh, nothin’,” he says, reaching for his blue striped shirt. “Dutch just wants us to go into town to meet the Grays.”  


“Want me to come with you?”  


He starts buttoning up his shirt. “I would, darlin’, except ya gotta remember the Grays deputized only me and Bill. Ain’t quite sure why Micah and Sean are comin’ along, especially since Sean helped me torch their fields. Anyways, my point is the Grays will probably be suspicious if a woman shows up.”  


“What’s wrong with me being a woman?” you ask, putting your hands on your hips.  


“Absolutely nothin’,” he smiles and puts on his hat. “But these Grays are ol’ fashioned. I mean, they so stuck in the past they’re trying to get that young Beau Gray to marry his cousin. Poor kid.”  


You briefly recall the story Arthur told you some weeks ago about Beau Gray. How he’s in love with the Braithwaite’s daughter Penelope. You smile at the memory of Arthur describing them as an “inbred retelling of Romeo and Juliet”.  


Arthur finishes putting his boots on and then offers you his hand, which you take. You both walk out and head over to the main campfire to pour yourselves some coffee.  


Just as you begin sipping your drink, Sean walks over with a big grin on his face.  


“Ah, there they are! The lovebirds of the century!”  


“What you want, boah?” Arthur says, taking a drink.  


“What? Not even a good mornin’, Sean MacGuire?” he says, his arms outstretched. You smile. Arthur just takes another drink.  


“Ah, well fine, ya sour ol’ man! Seriously, Y/N,” he leans closer to you. “Don’t know why ya picked him of all us gents!”  


“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know him the way I do,” you say, grinning wider.  


“And let’s keep it that way!” Sean says, smirking at Arthur. You laugh with him as Arthur just rolls his eyes.  


“Can we just go so I can get you to shut up for once in your damn life?” Arthur says. He quickly finishes the rest of his coffee and puts his cup back in his satchel.  


“A’right, fine,” Sean says, strutting away with Arthur. He turns back to yell at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N! When we get back, I know Arthur will give you his version o’ things, then I’ll tell you how they really went down!”  


You laugh aloud as Arthur grabs his shoulder. “Will you just shut up and get on your horse?”  


You shake your head as they march off on their horses with Bill and Micah. Pearson approaches you.  


“Morning, Ms. Y/L/N,” he says.  


“Good morning, Mr. Pearson.”  


“Can I ask you a favor?”  


You nod your head.  


“Could you just head out and hunt a little? Even a deer and a couple of rabbits would be extremely useful.”  


You agree and quickly finish your coffee.  


“I tell ya,” he says, lifting up the big cast iron pot from the fire to begin today’s stew. “I’ll be happy when you and Arthur are back to hunting full time. Maybe you ought to think about not getting hurt so often?”  


You chuckle. “Yeah, well the life we live doesn’t really allow us that luxury, now does it?”  


You hear him chuckle as he walks away. You put your cup back into your satchel and then make your way over to Rannoch. You pat him, thinking about your book, and feed him a treat. Kieran greets you warmly as you begin to saddle him, to which you greet him in return.  


You climb onto Rannoch’s back and head on out through the trees. When you reach the main trail, you debate on whether you should head into town. You know Arthur and the others were meeting the Grays there, maybe you could just say hi quickly before going into the store to pick up a few things.  


You begin making your way there when you hear the distant thunder of gunshots. They’re coming from Rhodes. You spur Rannoch into a gallop, terrified. Your hindered by the onslaught of riders and wagons coming in your direction, away from town.  


“Don’t go that way, miss!” a man on a coach yells at you, whipping his horses. “It’s dangerous!”  


You ignore him and go on. Just as you’re about to make the last turn before the town comes into view, a rider appears and your horses collide. Rannoch collapses with a loud snort, the other horse does the same.  


“Watch where you’re going!” you yell at the other rider, who gets up and clutches his arm.  


“Why you goin’ that way?” he retorts. “Can’t ya hear the gunfire?”  


You throw him a dirty look and get back on Rannoch, who has stood up and paws the dirt nervously.  


“You’re okay, boy,” you say. You pat his neck and then spur him on. The gunfire has stopped and you make the final turn. Ahead lies the town of Rhodes. You stop Rannoch as you see all the corpses littering the road.  


“What the hell?” you whisper. You push Rannoch into a trot. At the end of the main road, you see Micah and Bill mounted on their horses, a limp figure draped over Brown Jack’s rump. You spot Arthur backing away from the horse.  


“Micah, best you and I don’t speak for a moment,” you hear Arthur snarl.  


“You don’t scare me, tough guy,” Micah responds. He turns in your direction and gallops down the road. He glares at you as he passes but says nothing. Arthur hasn’t seen you and his back is turned towards you as Bill canters down the road, away from you. You see the limp figure jiggling on his horse, and you recognize the green hat and gray coat.  


“Arthur!” you call out. He’s standing next to Artemis, his hand on her neck.  


“Y/N?” he responds. You trot down the road and come to a stop next to his horse. You dismount and approach him slowly, looking around at all the bodies. Over near the saloon, you see Sean’s horse standing untethered.  


“Arthur, what happened?”  


You look up at him and see his eyes welling with tears.  


“It was a setup,” he says heavily. “Another goddamn setup. Those Grays didn’t want us here to do a job. They wanted to kill us all.”  


“What happened?” you say again.  


Arthur just shakes his head and looks around.  


“Not here, Y/N. Not like this.”  


He mounts Artemis and you hop onto Rannoch. You follow Arthur out of Rhodes and up into Scarlett Meadows. He doesn’t say a word to you nor do you push him to speak. He leads you up to a rise in the land, to a place you’ve seen on the map by your tent called Face Rock. He stops Artemis and hops off quickly, taking a few steps away. You stop Rannoch and follow him. He still does not speak, instead he sits down in the grass. You sit too and loop your arms around his, leaning your head on his shoulder.  


After a few moments, Arthur speaks. He tells you how the Grays had asked them to meet them at the saloon, claiming they needed some help with matters of security.  


“Whole thing felt off,” he says, looking off into the distance. “Town was quiet. Too quiet. Only Micah and Bill seemed to know any real details about the job. Well, you know Bill, damn fool he is. And Micah was bein’ real cagey about all of it. I kept askin’ what they needed security for, but he wouldn’t say. Just kept sayin’ they was gonna pay real good and that Dutch had said to keep goin’ with them Grays until we found this ol’ Confederate gold.”  


He goes on to describe that Bill was under the impression that all was fine, how he’d been around the Grays enough to think the job they were asking for was legit. Arthur described that just when things started to feel very odd, Sean got shot in the head. You gasp and cover your mouth.  


“Had to shoot our way out after that,” he adds, his mouth in a hard line. “They must have recognized Sean from when we’d snuck in to burn their fields. Probably why they targeted him first. They almost got Bill, but he got lucky.”  


He falls silent again and he continues to stare off into the distant trees. You wrap your arms tighter around him, still trying to process the fact that Sean is dead. How could it be that the young Irishman who you’d been joking with this morning, who had endured weeks of torture at the hands of bounty hunters and hadn’t said a word, was now suddenly dead? A tear slips down your face as you realize how quiet the campfires at night are going to be now. How you’ll never hear him talk about his old da or hear his jokes.  


An eagle whirls lazily through the sky, screeching in the joys of the hunt.  


“He was like an annoyin’ little brother to me,” Arthur says. You look up at him but he doesn’t meet your gaze. “What fun we had ridin’ together.”  


“Arthur,” you say, more tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”  


“What a goddamn mess we’re makin’ of things,” he says, still not looking at you.  


You don’t quite know what to say, so you settle your head against his shoulder again. After a moment, you wonder if maybe he wants to be alone to grieve. You ask him and he finally looks at you.  


“No, please don’t go nowhere.”  


You nod and he pulls you into a tight hug. You feel his forehead dip against your shoulder. You grip him tighter around the waist, laying your head down on his shoulder. You don’t know how long you stay like that, but by the time he pulls away, it’s well past noon.  


“You gonna be okay?” you ask, cupping his cheek with your hand. He nods and places a hand over yours, kissing your palm.  


“We gotta try to make this right,” he says. “I’m tired of losin’ folk.”  


“I know, Arthur. Just promise me I won’t lose you in the process.”  


He kisses your forehead. “Ain’t nothin’ pullin’ me away from you, darlin’.”  


He stands up and offers you his hand, which you take. “Guess we oughta head back to camp. Tell Dutch everything.”  


“Shit, Pearson asked me to do some hunting,” you say.  


Arthur sighs, you can tell he doesn’t have it in him to do that right now.  


“Well, I guess we can tell Pearson I didn’t have any luck.”  


“No, no. Camp needs to eat. Let’s just do this quick.”  


Arthur quickly mounts up on Artemis and pulls out his bow. You mount Rannoch and follow him down in the direction of Clemens Point. Luckily this part of Lemoyne is rich in game and soon you’ve both brought down a deer to take back.  


You sling the doe across Rannoch’s back.  


“Alright, this should keep us set for the next few days,” you say. Arthur nods, the dead buck swaying from Artemis’s haunches. You remember briefly the dreams he’d told you about. Shaking your head, you mount Rannoch and the two of you head off.  


After a few moments of travel, you and he trot through the trees leading to Clemens Point. Once you hit the clearing, you can tell something is wrong. Most of the gang has gathered around Dutch’s tent, looking tense. You wonder if this is in response to Sean’s death.  


You and Arthur quickly deposit your kills to Pearson’s wagon and march over to the crowd.  


“Arthur!” Dutch calls, pushing his way through to him. “Have you seen that boy, Jack?”  


“No,” he says. Dutch asks you and you shake your head. “Ain’t seen him in a while, Dutch.”  


“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail charges over on the brink of tears. “Where is he? They took him, didn’t they?”  


You’ve no idea who she’s talking about.  


“Who took him?” Arthur asks.  


“We think that Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea says, walking over. “Kieran said he saw a couple of them fellers that sounded like Braithwaite boys.”  


“Where’s my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!” Abigail says, placing her hands on her temples.  


“Now, Ms. Roberts,” Dutch says, standing to his full height. “We will find him and we will bring him back to you and we will kill anyone fool that had the temerity to touch a hair on that boy’s head!”  


John walks over, looking distraught.  


“Just get me back my son!” Abigail pleads.  


“We’re going to go get him back right now!” Dutch says, marching away, followed by Hosea, Arthur and John. Bill, Charles and some of the other men join in. You’re about to follow them, wanting to help, when Susan grabs you.  


“Not now, girl,” she says. “They’re headed into a guaranteed gunfight. The last thing Arthur needs is to be worrying about you at a time like this.”  


“But what if…” you begin to say. You couldn’t live through him getting shot again.  


“He’ll be fine, dear. He’s the best shot out of all of them. Those boys will wish they’d never even so much as looked at Jack when they show up on their doorstep.”  


“Come on!” Dutch yells from the back of the Count. “Let’s ride!”


	16. Reclaiming the Swamps

The sun sets properly on Clemens Point and camp is deathly still. There is little talk, except to say how worried people are about Jack or how sad they are about Sean’s death.  


Karen’s in rough shape. It’s no secret she and Sean had a complicated relationship. She drinks heavily from her bottle, sitting on the ground near her cot. Susan sits on a crate next to Abigail, patting her hand and whispering to her. Abigail’s completely distraught, her cheeks shining with tears. Cain dutifully sits by her lap, whimpering every now and then.  


You, Tilly and Micah take up the roles of camp lookouts while they’re gone, keeping an eye out for the men and any intruders. You’re doubtful any of the Braithwaites will show up, most likely they’ll all be gathering at their homestead. You’re also doubtful the Grays will try an assault, it sounds like most of them died in Rhodes.  


You stand in the treeline, keeping the campfires in sight. You’re still worried about what might happen and if they’ll find Jack. You hope none of them come back hurt or worse. You stand quietly until you hear a faint rustle. You grip your repeater tighter until you see the stumbling form of Kieran.  


“What are you doing?” you ask, trying not to sound accusatory.  


“Oh, I - I’m sorry, miss,” he stutters, looking sad and scared. “I… I just wanted to make sure things are okay.”  


You let out a sigh of relief. “Everything’s fine, Kieran. Everthing’s gonna be fine. You’ll see. Soon, they’ll come in with Jack and… and everything will go back to normal.”  


You tell yourself this just as much as you tell him. You still have a tight feeling in your gut as though something is wrong. You tell yourself it’s because of Sean’s death. You remember seeing Jenny and Davey die all those months ago when the gang fled Blackwater. You were still so new to the gang yourself, so their deaths had little effect on you. Sean is different. He was the clown of the gang, the one who could effortlessly lift everyone’s spirits. He was so confident, so sure. And now he’s dead.  


“I hope you’re right, miss,” Kieran says, bringing you out of your thoughts. You see the sadness pulling his lips down.  


“What is it, Kieran?” you ask quietly.  


“It’s my fault them boys got Jack. My fault. I… I saw them boys comin’ in, but I thought they meant to do some business with Hosea or Arthur. Never thought they’d kidnap a boy.”  


He rubs his hands over his eyes, sniffing. “I been tryin’ so hard to… to make Dutch and all them fellers see me as one of them. And now I gone and let Jack get taken.”  


“Hey,” you say, trying to calm him. You put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not how it is, okay? No one would have guessed them Braithwaites had come to take Jack. That’s the last thing anyone would have figured they were here to do. This isn’t your fault, Kieran.”  


You pat his shoulder and release it, feeling slightly awkward. You aren’t used to comforting people, even doing it with Arthur has required some getting used to. Not only that, you hardly know Kieran. You suddenly remember that he was once an O’Driscoll, and you recall what those men did to Arthur. You shake your head, swiping away the thoughts hovering on the edge of your mind. You know Kieran didn’t have anything to do with that, and he doesn’t have anything to do with Jack being stolen. He’s too sweet, too gentle.  


Kieran nods, but you can tell he still feels guilty. You don’t know what more to say to him.  


“Just keep working hard, Kieran,” you say, “and don’t take this too hard, okay? Once they get Jack back, none of it is going to matter.”  


He nods again and walks away. You feel slightly guilty yourself, not being able to comfort him. You know how difficult life has been for Kieran since Arthur captured him up in the snow. How hard he works and how little thanks he gets in return. He doesn’t even have a proper sleeping cot. You’ve seen him sleeping against a tree by the chicken coop. The others have been hard on him, as well. Some of them you can understand, like Sadie. Once you witnessed Jack throwing rocks at him until Abigail stopped him and said that was a job for the adults to do. You feel a pang for Kieran. Despite how he’s been treated, he still cares.  


You pass the time by pacing in your section of the trees and naming some of the plants in the vicinity. You constantly look up the path, waiting for signs of the others’ return. The moon comes out, nothing more than a small wedge in the black sky.  


You hear the sound of a horse coming down the path from the direction of camp. You turn and see Josiah Trelawney astride his appaloosa. You’ve spoken little to the man yourself, mostly because he’s hardly been around. He pops into camp every once in a while with a tip on a lucrative job, then disappears without a trace. Nearly a week ago, he’d gotten himself in a spot of trouble with bounty hunters from Blackwater and Arthur and Charles had gone to rescue him. Since then, he’s stuck dutifully close to camp, entertaining you and the other women and Jack with his cheap card tricks.  


He stops when he sees you standing guard on the trail.  


“Hello, Mr. Trelawney,” you say somberly.  


He greets you back in his north eastern accent. Despite the late hour, you see he’s already dressed in a fine suit, his thin, long mustache twirled finely into shape.  


“Where you headed off to at this hour?” you ask.  


“I have some other engagements that need my attention, Ms. Y/L/N,” he says, adjusting his seat in his saddle. “Besides, there’s talk that the camp will likely be moving once those boys return with young Jack.”  


You nod. You’d heard Pearson and Grimshaw discussing it not long after the party left to Braithwaite manor. Not that you disagree. Now that the men in camp have so openly feuded with both families, it would be unwise for any of you to remain here.  


“Well, take care of yourself then, Mr. Trelawney.”  


“And you as well, miss. Keep an eye out for Arthur. He’s got a talent for getting himself into trouble.” He tips his top hat to you before urging his horse to walk on.  


You return to your watch, eyeing Trelawney’s horse as it vanishes through the tree trunks. You watch as a fox chases a rabbit, growling in delight. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance. You notice the sky’s beginning to get lighter, the stars dimming. It’s then you hear a large troop of horses coming down the path. You grip your repeater just in case. Dutch suddenly appears on the trail, followed by Hosea, Arthur, John and the others. You greet them warmly but don’t see Jack on any of their horses.  


Arthur stops Artemis and offers you his hand. You take it and he swings you up behind him.  


“Jack?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his waist.  


“Boy wasn’t there,” he says heavily. He urges Artemis to walk on and he regroups her with the others. You see Abigail dash over to John and Dutch, sobbing. You dismount Artemis, followed by Arthur.  


“He isn’t dead, is he?” you ask, fearing the worst.  


“No. Braithwaites specifically wanted him alive,” Arthur explains. “That Braithwaite woman said she gave him to some Italian feller in Saint Denis.”  


You walk with him over to the table where Dutch and John stand, Abigail sitting on one of the seats completely broken down into sobs. Dutch places a hand on Abigail’s shoulder.  


“Try to get some rest, Ms. Roberts. We will find the boy. John, go with her.”  


John gives him a look but doesn’t argue. He grabs her hand and leads her to her tent, which she doesn’t refuse. You know, along with everyone else, that she won’t be sleeping.  


You look at Arthur and see he’s exhausted. You know he’s had a very long and hard day.  


“Come on,” you say, taking his hand. “You need to rest too.”  


You lead him to your shared tent and begin taking off your boots. He sits next to you but doesn’t move, his hands resting on his knees.  


“You wanna talk about it?” you ask.  


“About what?”  


“Anything.”  


He sits silent for another moment. “Ain’t really much to talk about, sweetheart. Once we’ve all had some rest, Dutch and Hosea will come up with a plan. We’ll find the boy.”  


“And the Braithwaites?”  


He looks at you. “They’re dead. All of them. Most of them we shot, and then we… burnt their house down after Catherine told us what she did with Jack. They ain’t a problem anymore.”  


“Well,” you sigh. “Guess Rhodes is now freed from these two warring families. Can’t tell you how many times I heard people complaining about them, or about which family they sided with.”  


Arthur doesn’t respond. You put a hand on his shoulder and slide the other under his hand resting on his leg.  


“Come on, Arthur,” you say after a moment. “Let’s get some rest.”  


He ends up curling behind you on the cot, holding you close. He holds you tighter than usual, almost as though he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers. 

After a few hours, Hosea knocks on the wagon forming your tent, waking you and Arthur. He tells you both to get up, that a plan needs to be made to find Jack.  


Arthur sits up and tucks in the parts of his shirt that came out from under his pants. You both put your boots back on and walk out of your tent. You see Dutch, Hosea and John sitting at the table. Arthur joins them as you walk over to Pearson’s tent to grab some cups of coffee.  


You come back to the table a moment later, offering one of the cups to Arthur who drinks it quickly. He hands you the empty cup back.  


“It’s gonna work out, John,” Dutch says as Arthur places a foot on the last remaining crate by the table. You take your cue and head off towards the donation box by Dutch’s tent, planning on putting in some of the trinkets you’ve collected over the past little while inside.  


Just as you open the lid, you hear Lenny call out.  


“Hey Dutch! Think we’ve got a problem.”  


You peak around the tent’s fabric and see Lenny leading in agents Milton and Ross, the Pinkertons. You, along with most of the others, join into a circle around the table, closing in the agents around you. You stand just behind Arthur, feeling worried.  


“Not a problem,” Milton says arrogantly. “Visitors. Good day, fine people.” His eyes travel around the circle, staring hard at everyone. His eyes settle on Dutch, who sits with his back to the agents. “Mr. Van der Linde, Mr. Matthews. And who are you?” he demands of John.  


“Rip Van Winkle,” he shoots back.  


“Huh,” he says before introducing himself and Ross to the group. Arthur takes a few steps towards him. “Ah, Mr. Morgan, nice to see you again.”  


“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch says, not looking at Milton. Arthur steps back and you place a hand on the small of his back, trying to keep him calm. You know after everything that happened yesterday, it will take little to set him off.  


“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Milton says, “but this is a civilized land now. We didn’t kill all of them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded. This thing of yours, it’s done!”  


“This place,” Dutch says, finally standing up and facing Milton, “ain’t no such thing as civilized. It’s man so in love with greed he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.”  


“And as a consequence that lets you take what you please when you please?” Milton demands. “Kill whom you please and hang the rest of us? Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve lead so horribly astray?”  


“I’m just a seeker.”  


“You ain’t nothing more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde. But I came to make a deal. You come with me and I give the rest of you three days to run off,” Milton gestures to everyone in the circle. “Disappear, go and live like human beings someplace else.”  


“You came for me?” Dutch says in a sarcastic tone. “Risked life and limb in this den of lowlives and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain’t that fine.”  


Many of the others chuckle darkly, you don’t. You’re too worried about what might happen.  


Milton just shakes his head. “I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch. Just you.”  


“Well, in that case,” Dutch raises his hands and takes a few small steps towards Milton. “It’d be my honor to join you. Excuse me, friends. I have an appointment to keep with…”  


You aren’t the only one to withdraw your pistol from its holster, nearly everyone else in the circle does so. Milton ignores them and stares hard at Dutch.  


“I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch,” Susan says as though Milton were nothing more than a pesky neighbor boy who trampled her vegetable garden.  


“You’re making a big mistake, all of you!” Milton says.  


Dutch chuckles. “Yeah, dreadful. We have got something to live and die for here. Mr. Milton, stop following us.”  


“I’m afraid I can’t,” he replies. “And when I come back, I’ll have fifty men. All of you will die! Run away from this place, you fools. Run!”  


Lenny marches forward and makes to grab his arm. “Come on,” he says.  


“Get your damn hands off of me, boy!” Milton snaps, turning away from him. You and the others watch the agents stalk off into the trees, followed closely by Lenny who keeps a firm grip on his repeater.  


“What now, Dutch?” Arthur asks, replacing his pistol into his holster.  


“We need to get outta here, and quick,” Dutch says. “Any ideas?”  


“I know a big ol’ house,” Arthur replies, “hidden outside the swamps in Saint Denis. I’m sure they’ll find us eventually but it should buy us a few days.”  


“A few days is all we need,” Dutch says confidently.  


“It’s a place called Shady Belle. Lenny, Y/N and I got into a dispute with its previous occupants. Place is well hidden.”  


Dutch nods for a second and then he gestures to Arthur and John. “You both go and ride out. Make sure no one else has moved in. John?” he says as he and Arthur begin heading off to their horses. “We’ll get Jack back, don’t you worry.”  


John nods and walks away to his horse Old Boy. You’re about to head off to your tent to begin packing up when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn and find Arthur standing behind you.  


“I want you to ride with us,” he says.  


“Why? I ain’t too sure Grimshaw’s gonna be happy about me leaving.”  


“I don’t care what ol’ Grimshaw thinks, darlin’. I want ya to come. You helped me and Lenny clear out Shady Belle before, should be easy for you to do it again if needs be.”  


You nod, grabbing your hat and follow him over to the horses. No one stops you as you mount up on Rannoch, to which you are grateful. You follow John and Arthur out of camp.  


“It’s gonna be a’right, John,” Arthur says from up ahead.  


“We should be going for Jack!” he retorts.  


Arthur explains that it will be done, but that camp needs to be moved first before the Pinkertons have a chance to return.  


“We made too much noise once again!” John says. “Lead ‘em right to us. I mean, how many people we killed these past few weeks? It’s Dutch playin’ his games, Hosea too.”  


“They thought there was a lot of gold,” Arthur says defensively.  


“Yeah, there always is.”  


“Look, Marston, I don’t know what to tell you. Things don’t always work out.”  


“Jack’s gone,” John says. You can hear the anger rising in his voice. “We lost Sean, Mac, Davey, Jenny and for what?”  


“We can’t change what’s done. We can only move on,” Arthur replies.  


“We need to start learning from our mistakes. We keep doing this over and over again!”  


“Come on, it ain’t all that bad. We’ve had a rocky run, but we’ll be okay.”  


“Oh sure,” John snaps. “Dutch’ll fix it. Dutch will come up with a plan. Every plan of his gets us into worse trouble.”  


“Now you can’t put all this on Dutch. You’re worked up and rightly so. Just don’t get too far in your head with all this.”  


“Why you care so much about Jack now anyways, John?” you say from the back.  


He glances back at you briefly. “Ain’t none of your business, Y/N. Why’d you invite her along, Arthur?”  


“Because she’s a good shot and she’s been to Shady Belle with me and Lenny before.” You feel there’s more to his answer than that. John just shakes his head.  


“That poor kid. We chose this life, he didn’t.”  


“I don’t know, think this life chose us,” Arthur says.  


The three of you canter down the trail you know leads to Shady Belle. The house is almost exactly the same as it was the last time you were here. You spot up ahead two men standing by the double doors leading inside the house. They’re obviously Lemoyne Raiders.  


“Oh shit, it’s them again!” one of them yells as the three of you stop your horses just by the small bridge going over the stream cutting through the land. Arthur and John pull out their rifles, but you take one of them down with your Springfield. John kills the other.  


“Come on, bet there’s more inside,” Arthur says dismounting. You and John follow him in. John kills another Raider inside the dining room then tells you and Arthur to go clear the upstairs. You jog up the rickety staircase. Arthur takes the back half of the house and you go through another set of double doors leading to the master bedroom.  


Sitting on an old, mildewy bed is an old man with thick, unkempt white hair and a beard to match.  


“I knew you’d come soon enough,” he says in a sharp voice. “You or some other coward like you.”  


You see him grab a pistol beside the bed. You point your rifle at him as he starts loading it.  


“The bounty hunters, the freedmen, the carpetbaggers,” he says as though he can’t see your gun. “I have survived them all.”  


You see him pull the hammer back on the gun and you respond by firing a bullet into his skull. “Survive that,” you say quietly.  


“How’s it lookin’ up there?” John shouts from the lower level.  


“Think we’re clear,” Arthur responds, exiting a room from the other end of the hallway with a large hole in the wall.  


“Good. Gimme a hand movin’ these bodies.”  


Arthur walks into the room you’re in and sees the dead man on the bed. He pats your shoulder. “I got this one, go help John.”  


You nod and head out of the room and down the stairs. You pick up one of the men by the front door, struggling with the weight. Somehow you manage to heave him onto your shoulder and follow John out to the river. As you approach, the stench of the water grows stronger and you hear the growl of an alligator somewhere nearby. John walks onto a broken boat dock and heaves the corpse on his shoulder into the murky water. You do the same, watching the corpse bob up and down briefly. You turn away, not wanting to watch the alligators enjoy their meal.  


Arthur walks down the front steps, the corpse of the man you killed swaying on his shoulder.  


"Go meet up with the rest, show ‘em how to get here,” Arthur says. “I got the rest o’ this.”  


You and John nod and mount your horses again, bolting back up the trail away from Shady Belle.  


“Look, John,” you say. “I’m sorry about Jack. And I’m sorry for thinking you didn’t care about him.”  


He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, you figure he’s mad at you.  


“I can see why you think I didn’t care. About him or Abigail. I treated ‘em both bad. I just hope we can find him before it’s too late.”  


“Well, hopefully you’ll have an opportunity to try harder and be better. Maybe this is your second chance.”  


He quietly agrees, though you can hear the doubt in his voice. The two of you gallop down the trail and meet the caravan just past Braithwaite manor. You look across its fields and see black smoke billowing up from the crumbled wreckage of the manor itself. No one pays it any attention, so you say nothing as you fall in line behind the wagon driven by Pearson and Grimshaw. Grimshaw shoots you a dark look but says nothing.  


You ride with them down the trail until Shady Belle comes into view once more. Now that your adrenaline has calmed, you take notice of the thick, wet air and the nearly overwhelming stench of the river. Even the mossy trees seem to emit an odor. You pull Rannoch up and hitch him just as Arthur walks out of the double doors, holding his arms up above him and smiling as though he were lord of the manor.  


“Welcome home,” he says, “to my humble abode! We got fine living. Ignore the corpses and the alligators it’s paradise.”  


“I love it!” Dutch says happily. You feel that you are not the only one who quietly disagrees with Dutch. He instructs everyone to begin getting the place prepared as a camp holdout. “Arthur, take a ride with me.”  


He and Arthur begin mounting up. Molly pushes past you and jogs over to him. “Dutch, can I have a word with ya?”  


“Not now,” he says sharply from the back of the Count. He spurs his horse into a gallop, followed by Arthur. You see Molly’s shoulders sag as she stares after them.  


“Miss Y/L/N!” Grimshaw suddenly hollers. She marches over to you and grabs you by the ear. “It’s time you work, missy! Stop starin’ after those men and go do your job!”  


She pushes you towards the manor, releasing your ear. You dash over to the wagons before she can get a hold of you again. 

Grimshaw doesn’t relent seeking her revenge on you until the sun is nearly set. She marches over to you as you finish helping Pearson set out his supplies and toss the last few ingredients into the pot.  


“A’right, girl. You can stop for the night and join the others for dinner.”  


You sigh in relief, dropping the knife with a loud clatter that you had been using to chop carrots. You grab a plate of stew and join Karen and Javier at the round table. As you eat, you continuously look at the path leading out of camp. Dutch had returned some hours ago, stating they found the place where Jack’s likely being held by a man named Angelo Bronte. Arthur wasn’t with him when he returned and you haven’t had the chance to ask Dutch where he is, but you figure he’s probably out on one of his journeys or scouting the city. You overhear Dutch telling John they’ll meet Arthur tomorrow in a park to visit this Bronte fellow and hopefully get Jack back.  


After you put your plate into the wash bin, you sit by the fire and listen to Charles play his harmonica. The camp’s subdued once again. You wish Arthur was here with you. For the first time since your arrival to the gang, you have your own room, mostly thanks to the fact that you’re with Arthur. Earlier, you had unpacked his belongings into one of the rooms on the upper level of the manor, a single rickety and rather uncomfortable bed along with a table and a scratched bookcase were the only furniture inside. You sigh heavily, knowing you’ll be spending the first night alone in that bed. You don’t fancy the idea much. Something about the swamp gives you the creeps. Perhaps it’s the alligators, the dark river water, or maybe it’s the feeling that there’s always something watching. You don’t know, but you hope you and the others won’t be here too long.  


Charles finishes his song and then he bids you a gentle good night before wandering off to his own cot. You sigh once more and resign yourself to the fact you’ll be alone tonight. You stand up and stretch. You walk into the manor and up the stairs, where you hear the sounds of sniffing and sobbing. Peaking through the massive hole in the room across the hall from yours, you spot Abigail sitting on the rusty bed. Karen sits by her side, patting her knee.  


“They’ll find him,” she says. “Your boy will be just fine, you’ll see.”  


You go into your room, leaving Abigail and her sobs behind, and close the door. You look around the room, hoping Arthur will approve of the way you’ve designed it. You put all his pictures on the bookcase, including the one of Mary, despite you wanting to leave it in the box it was packed in. You take off your boots quickly and then douse the lantern sitting on the table by Arthur’s map. You lie down in the darkness, listening to the cacophony of insects, alligators, and other night creatures. You’re glad to have four walls and a roof. You certainly wouldn’t want to sleep in the open swamp. 

You wake early in the morning, the horizon just beginning to lighten. You sit up in the empty bed. It’s a strange sensation to wake up alone now. You realize how ironic that is, seeing as how you used to shy away from even sharing a tent with Arthur. Now you struggle to sleep if he isn’t by your side.  


You put your boots back on and stand up with a yawn. When you walk out of your room, you see Abigail standing next to a long window through the hole in the wall. Her crying has stopped, but you wonder if that’s due to her being unable to produce tears at this point. You knock on the wall beside her door.  


“May I come in?” you ask.  


She glances back at you and nods, her face red and blotchy.  


Cain lies on the floor near the bed. He gives you a bark in greeting before settling his head on his paws again.  


“How are you holdin’ up?” you ask, aware of how stupid that question is.  


“I… I just miss him so much.” She pauses, running a hand over her forehead, her back to you. “What if… what if they don’t…”  


“They’ll find him,” you say sternly. “Dutch will find your boy and he’ll be fine. Trust me, this Bronte fella won’t have him killed. What use would he have for a dead boy? And if he’s hurt, well I imagine Dutch will burn that entire city to the ground.”  


Abigail sniffs and nods, but she still doesn’t look at you. You sit in silence for several moments.  


“Come on, let’s get you some coffee,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder. She seems too weak to disagree, so she lets you steer her towards the door, down the stairs and out onto the grass. You pour her and yourself a cup, but she simply holds the steaming cup in her hand. You steer Abigail over to the round table and gesture to one of the crates. She responds by sitting, though she still doesn’t drink.  


Kieran suddenly marches over. “Miss Abigail,” he says with determination. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Jack. When I saw them Braithwaite fellers, I had no idea. They didn’t seem like they were comin’ for him. And I don’t know anyone who would kidnap a boy.”  


He pauses, putting his hands on his hips. He finally looks down at the grass beneath his feet. “I feel like a fool. I know it don’t sound like much, but I would gladly give my life for his. Not that it matters or that it works that way. But I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”  


Clearly feeling awkward, Kieran walks away, looking miserable. Abigail watches him leave but says nothing. After a moment, she stands up and walks away.  


Dutch suddenly walks out of the manor, followed by John. Dutch grabs Abigail’s shoulder as she passes him. “We’re going to get him back, Ms. Roberts. Right now. I swear we won’t return until we have him.”  


He lets her go and continues on to mount his horse. Abigail trades a pleading look with John. The two men canter out of camp on their mounts. You see Abigail disappear around the corner of the house, you follow her. You can tell by her face she isn’t hopeful about their outcome. You find her sitting on a broken set of stairs leading into the manor.  


“Well, at least the waiting’s almost over,” you say, trying to sound optimistic for her sake. You sit next to her and stare out at the dirty river.  


“Pathetic. All of them,” she suddenly snaps. “Whole camp full of goddamn men who can’t even protect a boy!”  


“Like Kieran said, none of us expected them awful folks to steal a boy.”  


“Everyone keeps sayin’ that!” she stands up and glares at you. “Everyone keeps sayin’ that and that they’re gonna get Jack back! Yet they just left to get him now and we don’t know if they’ll even find him! For all we know, my son is on a goddamn boat!”  


You sit there, partially shocked at her outburst. You know this is just a product of her nerves and fear, so you tell yourself to stay calm.  


“Say something!” she demands. “And don’t tell me that same bullshit everyone’s been spoutin’!”  


You pause. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I don’t know what else to say that hasn’t been said before.”  


She waves a hand disappointedly at you and marches away. You let her leave, knowing she needs to be alone. The sinking pit in your own stomach returns. You stay on the stairs for a while until Grimshaw appears in your line of sight. You get up, knowing she’ll probably explode if she sees you sitting around again. 

You’ve kept yourself busy over the day doing chores and finishing setting up camp. Although the mansion’s falling apart, its inner walls turning gray with mold, you and the others do your best to turn it into a survivable fort. Still, there’s a certain ugliness to it you’re not sure could ever be covered up.  


You approach the river late in the afternoon, a bucket in your hand. You hesitantly step onto the bank, eyeing the water carefully. You’re terrified of getting close to it, knowing an alligator could be inches away from the surface, hidden by the murkiness of the water. You suck in your breath and dip the bucket in, filling it as much as possible and then snapping back from the water. Nothing happens luckily and you turn away from the water and dump the bucket into a barrel by Pearson’s wagon.  


Dutch, John and Arthur still have not returned. You’re not the only one who’s worried. Everyone’s tense with the lack of information on Jack. Abigail’s stuck relatively close to Karen, who has been comforting her. You feel somewhat sorry about that, knowing you did less than a mediocre job on that front. She sits now at the round table, her untouched plate of stew in front of her.  


You grab a beer bottle from a crate, not looking forward to spending another night alone in that damp room. The sun sets and a thick fog rolls in, cloaking everything. The stench from the river seems to grow in strength with the fog. Frogs begin to fill the air with their songs, which you actually find yourself enjoying.  


You sit down by the campfire. Uncle and Swanson are there too, but like the past few nights no one sings or plays their music. You wonder how much longer things are going to be like this.  


“They’re back!” Bill suddenly yells from the barracks where he’s been keeping watch. “I think I see Jack!”  


The sounds of horses coming down the trail hit your ears and you glance up. The fog is too thick to see far but then you see their silhouettes come over the bridge. First Dutch, then John with Jack sat in front of him, and then Arthur. For the first time in two days, you let out a sigh of relief.  


“Abigail!” Dutch hollers. “Abigail, we got you your son!”  


“We got him!” John yells behind him.  


Abigail looks up and sees the men along with her son. She hops up and jogs over to them, fresh tears streaming down her face. You stand up and watch her hug Jack, who looks fine and is even wearing new clothes. You look to Arthur, who is talking with John. You see him light a cigarette as Dutch and Abigail walk away from them with Jack.  


“I got my son back!” Abigail announces to the gang.  


Hosea, Karen and most of the others go to welcome Jack home. You, however, walk past them straight towards Arthur.  


You wait patiently as Dutch talks with Hosea, John and Arthur. After a moment, he turns away from them. “We got some work to do! But first let’s have a drink.”  


You slowly approach John and Arthur, the sinking feeling in your stomach finally lifting. John and Arthur begin slowly walking your way.  


“Do as Dutch says,” you hear Arthur say to John. “Go be with your family.”  


John walks to you and gives your shoulder a friendly pat. You smile up at him. “Knew you’d find him, John.”  


He says nothing as he continues on. You look at Arthur once more, who gives you a grateful smile. You approach him and immediately loop your arms around his neck. Laying your head on his shoulder, you breathe in that familiar scent of pine and leather, a welcome reprieve from the swamp stench. He clutches you tightly, his arms are warm, steady and familiar.  


After a moment, he pats your back and lets you go.  


“Come on,” he says warmly. “We rarely get an excuse to have a party.”  


You smile at him and take his hand before walking with him to the main campfire. The whole gang has gathered there to celebrate. Javier sits down and grabs his guitar. Abigail and John sit on the log with Jack on Abigail’s lap. Javier begins singing in Spanish and the others join in on the chorus. Not knowing the words yourself, you simply sway with the tune. Arthur stands behind you and wraps his arms around you. You lean into him and wonder if he missed you as much as you missed him.  


When Javier finishes his song with a high flourish, everyone cheers and laughs. Abigail announces that she’s going to take Jack up to bed. Several of the others welcome Jack back, including Kieran. John goes with them, looking happy and relieved. The gang begins to break up into small groups, some go to get drinks, others gather at the round table with Uncle, who starts singing. One of the songs you recognize. You’ve heard Arthur singing it on the trails during your hunting trips. You smile fondly at the memories.  


“Arthur?” you say quietly, his arms still wrapped tightly around you.  


“Hmm?”  


“We need to go hunting again. Just the two of us.”  


You feel the soft rumble of a laugh in his chest against your back. “I’d like that, sweetheart.”  


He kisses your temple and then releases you so he can grab himself a drink. He sits down on an empty crate, singing to the tune. You go to grab yourself a beer when you spot Kieran, swaying around the camp. You hear him muttering to himself, although his words are so slurred you can’t make them out. You’ve never seen Kieran drunk before. You’re about to go and talk with him when you hear Arthur call your name.  


You turn and approach him. He grabs you by the waist and sits you on his lap as Uncle begins a new song. You join in, drinking your beer. Arthur’s hand doesn’t leave your hip as he mutters the words to the song between sips.  


Uncle finishes the song with a round of laughter, which Lenny and Javier join in on. Arthur gives Lenny a teasing look.  


“Lennaaayyy!” he suddenly yells out.  


“Oh God!” Lenny reacts. “It’s all comin’ back to me!”  


Arthur laughs. Suddenly from up above, a flash fills the sky. You flinch a bit and Arthur’s hand slides up your back reassuringly. He looks up and notes the dark clouds above.  


“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, finishing the last of his beer. “Let’s go to bed.”  


You stand up and he grabs your hand. You lead him inside the manor and take him upstairs to show him where you’re both sleeping. You open the door and gesture for him to go inside.  


“What do you think?” you ask, wishing it looked nicer.  


“Can’t remember the last time I slept in a house,” he says simply. He then looks at you and smiles. “This is already better.”  


“Can’t imagine that,” you say, looking around at the grimy walls and the creaky bed.  


“Sure it is. I got you with me this time.”  


You look up at him, expecting him to be wearing his teasing smile. While he is smiling, you see no sign of a joke on his face. You put your hands on his shoulders and reach up to kiss him.  


“Glad you’re home,” you say, finally pulling away. “I missed you last night.”  


“I know, I’m sorry, darlin’,” he says, guiding you over to the bed. “I wanted to come back last night, I did. But I had to scout this Bronte feller’s house.”  


As he sits down, he tells you about how he and Dutch looked around for clues on where Bronte lived and how he got mugged by two kids. You try not to laugh since you can tell how frustrated he still is about it. Then he tells you of how they met Angelo Bronte, a slippery Italian snake who believed himself to be King of Saint Denis and how he demanded he and John steal from grave robbers in order to get Jack back.  


“I’ll be happy if we never see that snake again,” he says after he removes his boots.  


“Well, you did good. Maybe things can finally start going back to normal.” You take off your boots as well and throw them into the corner.  


“Don’t know if we’ve ever had a normal life, darlin’.”  


He takes off his hat and tosses it onto the ammo crates. You bite your lip and look at him.  


“What?” he asks.  


“Nothing. Like I said, I just missed you last night.”  


He chuckles and begins removing his shirt. You watch his hands work on his buttons before you smack them away and take over for him.  


“Let me show you how much I missed you,” you purr into his ear. He groans in response as you lay him down onto the bed.


	17. Welcome to Saint Denis

Warnings: blood, swearing, angst 

You wake up in the morning with Arthur’s arm draped over your side, his face buried in your hair. The only thing covering your bodies is a thin, scratchy blanket. You move your leg, which slides against his. He sighs in his sleep. You’d like to get up and start your chores just in case Grimshaw’s still on a roll, but you’re far too comfortable in Arthur’s embrace. Not only that, you can hear the rain outside slapping against the ground. It must have rained all through the night. The stench of the swamp seems to be stronger with the rain, and the mansion is even more damp, bringing a slight chill to the air.  


You shiver ever so slightly. Arthur stirs and his arm squeezes around you, pulling you closer to him. He sighs and you can tell he’s waking.  


“Mm, mornin’, darlin’,” he says, his lips grazing the back of your neck slightly.  


“Morning,” you reply. You turn your head to look at him and he kisses you, his hand finding your cheek.  


“Mm, I’d love to wake up like this every morning for the rest of my life,” he smiles.  


You take his hand and kiss his palm. “Me too.”  


He lays down behind you again, placing his lips against your shoulder, his hand gliding across your stomach. You shiver slightly at his touch.  


“You cold, darlin’?”  


You stay silent for a second. “Just a bit. I’ll be okay.”  


“Well, let me warm you up, sweetheart.”  


You giggle as he rolls you onto your back, only to lift himself to hover above you.

You walk out of the house, hand in hand with Arthur. The rain has finally stopped but the ground, which had been soaked before the rain, seems to be trying to mimic a shallow lake. He leads you over to the main fire, which Pearson has had to elevate to prevent from going out, pouring a cup of coffee which he hands to you. You finish it quickly, putting your cup into your satchel.  


“Think we oughta head out soon. Another hunting trip,” he says without looking at you.  


“Hmm, I’d like that. Feels like we haven’t done that in forever.”  


“You mind if we went later today?” he asks.  


“Of course not. Now that young Jack’s back, I imagine we can relax a little. Where you thinking of going?”  


He shuffles a bit, replacing his own cup into his satchel. “Don’t know if you’d mind, but I was thinkin’ of headin’ up north to a place called Lake Isabella.”  


“Where’s that?”  


“Just southwest of Colter.”  


“Colter? Last time we were in New Hanover, I saw the mountains still covered in snow. You really wanna go back there?”  


He pulls out an old map and unfolds it. “Well, this here says there might be a rare bison up there. Also heard rumors of a monster salmon livin’ in the lake.”  


“Huh, we ain’t been fishin’ in a long time. Well, if you really wanna go up there, Arthur, I’m with you.”  


He pulls you into a one armed hug and squeezes you gently before letting you go.  


“Well, would you mind packing up some things for our trip? I gotta take care of a few chores myself,” he says.  


You nod and head into the house. You go into your shared room and reach into the chest of clothes Arthur keeps. When you first began sharing the cot, he let you move your clothes into it. You shuffle through it until you find your dark coat made of wolf and ram hides and Arthur’s blue coat. You grab a few arrows and boxes of cartridges from the pile of ammo lining the wall. You head down the stairs and towards the horses, where you pack the coats and ammo into their saddlebags.  


You head back into the heart of camp, planning on picking out some provisions. You spot Arthur leaning against the thin wooden beam holding up Mary-Beth’s tent, his hands resting on his gun belt. You smile and wander over to him, curious on what they’re talking about.  


“She didn’t love me enough, I guess,” you hear him saying. It’s obvious he hasn’t seen you yet. “Or I wouldn’t change.”  


“Well, she was a fool, Arthur,” Mary-Beth says, sitting cross legged on her cot with a book open on her lap.  


“Well, she put in a lot of good years on an outlaw,” Arthur continues. You’ve stopped walking, hiding just behind one of the wagons. “So she definitely was a fool. I’m just waitin’ for Y/N to catch on.”  


“Oh, Arthur, I don’t think you know how much she loves you. The way she looks at you.” You hear Mary-Beth give a small laugh. “You two are perfect for each other. It’s like in some of these books I read.”  


He chuckles, making you smile. You know exactly how he’s looking at her, almost skeptically but with hints of pride. “Well, I hope you’re right. I’m just gonna try and enjoy it while it lasts.”  


“Mr. Morgan!” You hear Grimshaw’s angry voice coming towards him. You wonder if she’s about to demand he tell her where you are so she can punish you for slacking on chores again. You decide to spare him that and step out from behind the wagon and into her view, ready for your lashing.  


Oddly enough, she ignores you and continues marching up to Arthur. “Mr. Morgan! We have a real problem! It’s Tilly.”  


“What?” he asks as Grimshaw storms past him and reaches into the wagon, pushing Mary-Beth out of the way. She leans back, a revolver in her hands.  


“She’s been taken by them Foreman Brothers she used to run with,” she explains, loading the cylinder.  


“The Foreman Brothers? What are they doing up here?” you ask, standing by Arthur’s side.  


“Well, I don’t know what they been doin’ here, but I know what they’re gonna be doin’ here: dyin’,” she says angrily.  


“Sure,” he says. He motions for you to follow him as Grimshaw marches over to the horses. She orders you both to hitch some horses up to an empty wagon. You do so quickly. You’re about to climb into the front with Arthur when Grimshaw grabs your shoulders and demands you sit in the back. You sigh and obey her, knowing you’re not going to win the argument.  


Arthur flicks the reins when you get settled.  


“Head for Rhodes,” she says as he guides the horses over the bridge and away from Shady Belle. “She’s at a place called Rhadley’s House.”  


“How do you know?” you ask.  


“When we first got here, she told me she was worried that our camp was near a safe house that gang of hers used from time to time.”  


“And you told Dutch?” Arthur asks.  


“She spoke to me in confidence. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”  


“And now it is,” he sighs heavily.  


He flicks the reins again. The horses snort and rush on. You glance around at the familiar settings of west Lemoyne. After all the time you spent in Clemens Point, you didn’t think you’d be happy to see it again. Now that you’ve been in the swamp for a couple of days, with its constant fog and alligator infested waters, you smile at the bright greens and dark oranges of north Lemoyne. Arthur steers clear of Rhodes, still worried about getting caught for his feud with the Grays.  


“I just hope we can get there in time,” Grimshaw sighs as Arthur continues north. “If they’ve touched a single hair on that girl’s head, I’ll eviscerate the sons of bitches!”  


“See? You do care, Ms. Grimshaw,” Arthur says fondly.  


“Of course I care. About all you fools. Some just require a firmer hand. Your girl especially.”  


You laugh and Arthur turns to smirk at you with a wink.  


“I swear half of you would just rot in your own filth if it weren’t for me,” Grimshaw continues as though she didn’t notice your small exchange.  


“No doubt,” he says, flicking the reins again.  


“I think that’s the place ahead,” she says, pointing up the trail. You lean over to see around Arthur and notice a small yellow house nestled beyond a copse of trees. A few horses are hitched outside and a man stands by the porch, a repeater in his hands.  


“That must be their guard,” Grimshaw saysas Arthur pulls up to the house. “I’ll deal with him.”  


“What you want?” the man barks as you three get out of the wagon. Arthur holds a hand out to you as Grimshaw walks proudly up to him.  


“Kind sir, we’re lost and in need of some help,” she says, feigning politeness.  


“No, get outta here, lady,” he says.  


“Oh, I see that kind face of yours,” she says. She smiles at him before she reaches behind her. You blink and nearly miss her thrusting a knife into his throat. You remind yourself never to get on Grimshaw’s bad side.  


The man falls with a heavy thud, landing in his own blood.  


“Well, what are you two waiting for?” she snips at you and Arthur, pulling out the knife from his throat. “Get in there and find our girl!”  


You follow Arthur inside as he barges through the door. Inside, sitting at the table, is another man. Arthur shoots him quickly just as you’re pulling your gun from its holster.  


“Search that room,” he says, gesturing to your left. You nod and go to the door, kicking it open to find an empty bedroom. You hear him kick open another door and then another gunshot. Attracted to the sound of a falling body, you follow the commotion.  


You find Tilly tied to a bedpost, the body of her captor beside her. A bandana is tied tightly around her head, covering her mouth. She mumbles through it. Arthur approaches her and cuts her bonds loose, helping her to stand. You holster your gun and look up to find him pulling her into a tight hug, his hand on her head as he pats her shoulder.  


“It’s okay, Miss Tilly,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you outta here.”  


“I thought they was…” she whimpers, rubbing her raw wrists.  


“Shh, shh, it don’t matter what ya thought, it’s okay.” He lets her go, his eyes filled with relief.  


Grimshaw marches in, pushing you out of the way. “Come along, miss,” she says, reaching for Tilly’s shoulder. “Thank you, both of you.”  


“It was Anthony Foreman,” Tilly says through a slightly squeaky voice. “He thinks he owns me.”  


“I remember,” Grimshaw says, walking her slowly out of the house. “Where is he?”  


“He went out hunting or something.” She points to the back door. “There were five of them, I think.”  


Arthur marches out the door and sees three men on horses dash away from the cabin. “There they are!” he shouts.  


“Y/N,” Grimshaw orders. “Stay here with Tilly. We’ll get these bastards!”  


“Keep Anthony alive!” Tilly pleads. “I wanna talk to him!”  


“Will do. Y/N!” Grimshaw says, hopping onto the back of a dalmation appaloosa behind Arthur. “Anyone approaches, shoot ‘em!”  


“Don’t worry about us!” you shout back, pulling out your revolver again and standing close to Tilly. “Go get that son of a bitch!”  


Arthur kicks the horse into a gallop and they’re gone through the trees.  


“Come on,” you say to Tilly. “Let’s go sit down and wait for them.”  


You lead her through the house and onto the front porch stairs where you sit. Tilly sits down next to you, still rubbing her wrists. She’s close to you, closer than you’re comfortable with. You’re still getting used to being touched, only used to Arthur’s body, but you allow it. You feel her shivering and put a hand on hers, patting it.  


“Thank you for comin’ for me,” she says, looking at her knees. “I hoped someone would, but was afraid ya wouldn’t find me.”  


“You’re family, Ms. Jackson. We look out for our own. Besides, there’s no way I wouldn’t try to find you when you helped me after I got hurt.”  


She smiles up at you, her clever eyes glistening a bit tearfully. She looks off into the trees. “That Arthur’s a good man. I was honestly glad you three were the ones to find me.”  


You chuckle. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Arthur won’t let anyone tell him how good he is, not even me.”  


She laughs softly. For the next few moments, you stay silent, listening to the birds and the breeze. Tilly sniffs a few more times, you don’t remove your hand from hers.  


“I’m sorry this happened to you, Tilly,” you say, patting her hand again.  


“I just hope this’ll be over,” she says. She leans her head against your shoulder. You squeeze her hand reassuringly.  


After a moment, you hear a horse approaching. Grimshaw appears on the back of a dunn morgan. She hops off and walks quickly over to you both. She waves her hands at you, motioning for you to get up. You pat Tilly’s hand again and stand, letting Grimshaw take your spot. She puts an arm around Tilly, letting her lean against her. You smile, never knowing how maternal Grimshaw could be. You put your hands on your hips and wait for Arthur, figuring he’s not far away with Tilly’s captor.  


Within moments, he rounds the corner of the house on the back of the appaloosa, a dark man tied up and slung over the back of the horse.  


“Dump him on the ground here,” Grimshaw says, standing up.  


Arthur complies, slinging the man onto the ground.  


“So he’s still alive then?” Tilly asks, still sitting on the stairs.  


Arthur kicks the man in the gut and he grunts painfully. “I guess,” Arthur says.  


Grimshaw marches over and bends down, gripping his ear and lifting his head.  


“You see this girl?” she growls loudly. A cougar would have been less intimidating. You leave her alone!”  


“She killed my cousin!” he snarls back, his teeth gritted in pain.  


“Your goddamn cousin had it coming, Anthony Foreman!” Tilly says, standing up and stomping towards him.  


“I don’t care if she shot your daddy and cooked your mommy for breakfast,” Grimshaw says. “She’s mine, she ain’t yours!” She lets his ear go.  


Arthur approaches Anthony’s feet and cuts his bonds loose. “You know, an old friend of mine says ‘revenge is a fool’s game’.” He picks the man up by his shoulders and pulls him to his feet, but he doesn’t let him go or put his knife away. “Now she had her reasons.”  


The man glares at Tilly before finally speaking. “We was family, Tilly Jackson!”  


“You Foreman boys ain’t no kind of family I want!” she snarls into his face.  


“Kill him, Arthur!” Grimshaw says, closing in on the man. You take a step closer to them, standing just behind Arthur, who brings his knife up to hold it against Anthony’s neck.  


“You want that?” he asks Tilly. “You want me to kill this man?”  


“I want him to go away and tell the remaining of his cousins and the clowns he rides with to leave me alone!”  


“You think you can do that?” Arthur growls at Anthony, pressing the knife tighter to his neck. “Or should I slit your throat and just save us all the bother?”  


You shiver at the sight of Arthur, looking so dangerous in that moment. You’ve known since you met him that he’s killed many men, but you’ve never seen him like this. You realize how much he cares for his family.  


“I’ll leave you alone,” Anthony says, holding his head up to try relieving the pressure from the knife. “History is done.”  


“History is never done,” Grimshaw hisses. “It’s your call, Arthur, but I’d slit his throat.”  


Arthur doesn’t move, but you see him press the knife gently into his throat before taking it away. “A’right,” he finally says. He shakes his knife into Anthony’s face in a threatening manner before turning him around to cut his wrists free.  


“Now get out of here,” he says, “and you better pray I never see you again.”  


He shoves Anthony away as Grimshaw and Tilly climb into the wagon and drive off. Anthony runs off into the trees, climbing onto his morgan and rushing away.  


Arthur puts his knife away and looks at you.  


“So much for waiting for us,” you say, gesturing to the wagon far down the road.  


He sighs and points to the appaloosa he came back with. “Well, I know ya don’t mind sharing a horse.”  


He smirks at you cheekily and mounts up on the appaloosa. He pulls you up behind him and you happily fold your arms around him, resting against his back. He sighs and pats your arm. You can tell he loves the way you’re holding him and you make a mental note of it.  


After a moment, his hand leaves your arm and goes to the reins. He kicks the horse into a canter. On the way to camp, you and him trade comments, making each other laugh.  


When he turns down the path that leads directly to Shady Belle, you squeeze him tighter around the waist.  


“Y’know,” you say, smiling and putting your head against his back. “You were very intimidating when you threatened that Foreman feller.”  


“Well, that was the point, sweetheart.”  


“I know, but my point is that I found it very… sexy.”  


You hear him chuckle as he brings the horse to a stop. “Don’t know if anything I do could be termed sexy, darlin’.”  


“I beg to differ,” you say as he reaches up and helps you down, his hands on your hips. “It’s incredibly sexy how protective you are over people you care about.”  


He chortles softly and bends down to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into him.  


“You’re far too perfect for an ol’ miserable outlaw like myself,” he mumbles against your lips.  


“Funny, I could say the same thing about myself.”  


You feel the rumble of a laugh in his chest as he kisses you again.  


“Awe, if it isn’t Morgan and his whore,” Micah’s voice suddenly rings out, forcing you apart.  


Arthur whips around, glaring at him. His hand wanders to the butt of his pistol.  


“What you just call her, Micah?” he snarls.  


Micah raises his hands and snickers. “Take it easy, cowpoke. I meant nothing by it.”  


“Get out of here, you piece of shit!” you say. “Or do you want me to punch you again?”  


“I’d like to see you try,” he hisses.  


“You better step off, Micah,” Arthur says, walking up to him. “I don’t need much of a reason to put a bullet in your head.”  


Micah sneers and walks away quickly. You hear him cough once as he leaves.  


Arthur glances back at you and shakes his head. “Damn fool. Always shows up at the worst moment.” He offers his hand to you and you take it.  


You walk across the bridge when he stops you.  


“Hey, I been meanin’ to ask you,” he begins. You look up at him, curious. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “That Bronte feller invited us to the mayor’s ball and I wondered if… maybe you’d like to come?”  


You furrow your brow slightly. He continues before you have a chance to ponder his offer.  


“We’ll mostly be there to work, y’know, finding leads on jobs, but I thought we never get the opportunity to go to somethin’ nice like this. Besides, when was the last time you and I had a date?”  


“Um, never, Arthur. We’ve never been on a date.”  


“Exactly.”  


You suddenly remember all those horrible balls your cousin Emma forced you to attend back in Blackwater. You remind yourself that it’ll be different with Arthur.  


“Do I have to dress up?” you ask.  


He chuckles. “Unfortunately yes, but if it helps, I have to dress up too.”  


You giggle. “Then count me in! I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see you in a suit again.”  


He groans and huffs a small laugh. He squeezes your hand and continues walking forward with you.  


Mary-Beth wanders over to you both, looking concerned. “Have you two seen Kieran?” she asks.  


You shake your head.  


“I ain’t seen him since last night,” Arthur says.  


“Arthur, would you help me look for him? He might be in the trees somewhere.”  


“Of course, Ms. Gaskill.”  


He lets go of your hand and follows Mary-Beth across the bridge. Karen approaches you, a stack of letters in her hand.  


“Oh, Y/N,” she says, handing you a letter. “This one’s for Arthur. Will you give it to him?”  


“Of course,” you say, taking it. You look down and see Arthur’s name scrawled in loopy handwriting across the envelope. You wonder who it’s from and if he’d be mad at you for reading it. You tell yourself you shouldn’t, it’s personal. In the end, your curiosity gets the better of you.  


You head into the house and up into your room where you open the letter. In it, you read that it’s from a woman named Mary stating she’d like to see Arthur again. Your stomach curls painfully as you realize it can only be the Mary. You glance angrily at the picture of her on the bookshelf.  


You’re just debating on whether or not to hide or destroy the letter when Arthur walks in. You turn, not having the chance to make a decision.  


“Well, can’t find Kieran. I’m sure he’ll wander back in soon,” he says. He sees the letter in your hand. “Who’s that from?”  


“Um, it’s… it’s not for me. It’s for you.” You hand it to him, the warm balloon in your chest deflating quickly. He takes it and reads it. A strange expression crosses his face as he finishes.  


“It’s from Mary,” he says.  


“I know,” you whisper.  


You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You realize you’re a fool for thinking she’d never contact him again just because you were involved. You also know that it’s highly likely he’ll go find her.  


“She wants me to go see her,” he goes on, crumpling the letter in his hand. “Darlin’,” he walks towards you and takes your hands into his. “I ain’t so stupid to go lookin’ for her.”  


You say nothing for a moment and then you finally look up at him. “Can we just… pretend the letter never showed up?”  


He nods with a small smile. “I think that’s probably for the best.”  


You sigh and glance back at the photo of Mary, still wishing he’d get rid of it. You want to ask him desperately, but you find yourself incapable of doing so.  


“Come on,” he says, gesturing to the door. “Let’s get something to eat. Dutch wants us to head into town tomorrow and get our costumes for this stupid ball.”  


You nod and head on out, a tight knot in your gut. You head over to the campfire and grab yourself a plate of stew. You go and sit on the log, staring into the fire and forgetting about your dinner. Arthur plops down next to you with his own plate and tosses the letter into the fire.  


“Like I said, I ain’t gonna go into town just to see her,” he says. You watch the paper curl as the edges blacken and catch fire.  


“Let’s just forget about it, Arthur,” you say.  


“Well, ya’d make me feel a lot better about this if you ate somethin’.”  


You smile at him and force yourself to eat, although the tight knot still sits in your gut. You watch the embers of the fire, hoping it’ll be gone by morning. When you finish eating, you claim that Grimshaw needs you to do chores instead of going hunting. You don’t know why you’re lying to him, but it has something to do with this horrible feeling in your stomach. 

In the morning, you wake up in your bed and see that Arthur’s still asleep. You remove his arm from your waist and get up quietly, trying not to disturb him. You lace up your boots and head outside in order to grab some coffee.  


Abigail approaches the fire where you stand with your cup and smiles at you. You return it halfheartedly. She’s been much happier ever since Jack came back, but you still have a knot in your stomach. She pours herself a cup and sighs.  


“By the way, I never apologized,” she says to you.  


“For what?” you ask.  


“When Jack was missing and I snapped at you. I… shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”  


“Don’t worry about it,” you say, waving your hand. “I probably would have done the same.”  


She smiles at you, her hand wrapped around her waist. “So I heard Arthur’s taking you to the ball. You excited?”  


You smile uncertainly at her. “Sure am.”  


The last thing you want to do is get anyone involved in your relationship drama, so you quickly finish your coffee and walk away to begin your chores.  


As you finish scrubbing Pearson’s table, Arthur walks over.  


“Hey, darlin’. Just got done with my work, should we head into Saint Denis and get our dancin’ clothes?”  


You look up at him and smile. “Sure. You don’t think Grimshaw will mind, do you?”  


He huffs a laugh. “Sweetheart, we’re gettin’ supplies for a job. Now come on.”  


He offers you his arm and you take it somewhat hesitantly. You don’t know why that letter is still bothering you, but you wish you could shake the feeling off. You do your best to act normal, even taking his hand as he walks you over to the horses. You suddenly notice he’s wearing his black shirt, red leather vest and green shotgun coat, something he hasn’t worn in a few weeks but you find incredibly handsome.  


“What’s with the outfit?” you ask.  


“Oh, well once you get into Saint Denis, you’ll understand. Everyone there looks… well, they don’t look like they’re from the country.”  


“I thought you didn’t care what other people think about you?” you tease.  


“I don’t.”  


You smile and mount Rannoch, patting his neck affectionately. He hops onto Artemis and leads you out of camp. You follow, only half listening to his comments. Your pulled from your thoughts when the path leaves the trees and you see the city of Saint Denis spread before you, black smoke belching from the towers rising into the sky. The filth of the city draws a look of disgust from you and you stop Rannoch. Arthur stops and looks at you.  


“I know, sweetheart. It’s a… it’s one hell of a sight, ain’t it?”  


“I hope we don’t have to come here often. Think I prefer the country.”  


“Me too, darlin’. Well, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave this godforsaken city.”  


He trots into the city and you follow obediently. He leads you down the filthy cobbled streets, although you do enjoy the sound of Rannoch’s hooves clopping along. You pass a large, fancy house with columns in the front of it, a wrought-iron fence confining it from the rest of the city.  


You look around at all the buildings surrounding you. Most are even taller than the buildings in Blackwater, their architecture foreign to you. You see a trolley in the distance curve down the road and onto a different street. Arthur stops outside a building standing on a 10-foot foundation. You both hitch your horses and he leads you up the stairs and into the building, the name of a tailor scrawled onto the door.  


Arthur opens the door for you with a smile. You walk in and notice the fine architecture: the paintings on the walls, arched doorways, the frosted ceilings and gold leafed designs set into the marbled fireplace. You look down at your feet and see your filthy, grimy boots on top of an intricate rug, the tight threads dyed in over a dozen colors.  


Arthur chuckles at the look on your face. “And this is only the tailor’s, sweetheart,” he says.  


“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in,” you say.  


The tailor cocks an eyebrow at you from behind his desk. Arthur approaches him and explains what you’re both here for. The tailor nods and opens a book for Arthur to flip through. He does so and points out a rather basic suit for himself, then he motions you over.  


“Take a look, sweetheart,” he says. “See what you like.”  


The tailor fetches Arthur a flat box with his suit inside of it. You begin turning the pages of the women’s section as Arthur pays, glancing at the drawings and reading the details on the gowns. None of them stick out to you in particular and you suddenly begin to regret agreeing to go to this ball. You’ve never been comfortable in dresses, preferring jeans, shirts and boots.  


You must have been looking through them a long time because the tailor tells you to call to him when you’re ready. Arthur pats your shoulder and says he’ll be back in a few minutes.  


“Where you going?” you ask.  


“Just need to take care of somethin’. Won’t be gone long.” He kisses you on the cheek and heads out the door. You turn back to the catalogue and decide to just pick out a dress. You close your eyes and flip to a random page. You open them and see a drawing of a floor-length gown. The sleeves puff up above the shoulders before they flare out to create the covering of the chest and then flow down into a fitting form around the waist.  


You call the tailor and ask if he has the dress to try on. He looks and nods, asking if you know your dimensions. You shake your head, it’s been years since you’ve been fitted.  


He whistles and a small lady with a high bun on her head and a round but happy face comes around the corner. A measuring tape dangles over her neck and she wears a thick grey dress that completely covers her arms and neck.  


“Hello, dear. Need to be fitted?” she asks in a kind voice with a heavy southern accent.  


You nod. The tailor turns and tells her what dress you’re wanting. She beckons you to follow her and she takes you into a fitting room. With surprising speed, she measures you and she doesn’t even write down your measurements. After a few moments, she tells you to stay put and leaves. You stand in the fitting room somewhat awkwardly in nothing but your undergarments. You wish you were better prepared to be here, you’re in need of a good bath. You’re grateful she’s being so kind to you in your state.  


She returns holding the dress. You see the material is a dark green with black designs threaded into it.  


“Oh no, I couldn’t afford this,” you say, although you know the dress will be paid for by funds given to the camp. Except for the puffed sleeves, the dress is stunning and you feel it would be an insult to it for you to even touch it.  


“Just try it on, dear,” the woman says kindly, “and see what you think?”  


You sigh and nod. She helps you slide into the petticoat and then into the corset and begins adjusting it. You certainly haven’t missed this trend as you gasp when she pulls it particularly tight. She finally helps you into the dress itself. Once she’s finished, she tells you to look in the mirror.  


You walk over to it. You’re stunned that even though your skin is grimy and dirty, your hair unkempt and in desperate need of a good wash, the dress makes you glow. You love the way the light catches on the dress, the black lace dancing with your movements. The dress hugs your hips perfectly, showing off your curves. You wonder what Arthur would say if he was here to see.  


“You look lovely in it, dear,” the woman says, nodding. “I think this was made for you.”  


You look at her and smile. “I’ll take it.”  


She helps you out of it and then takes it up to the counter for you while you get changed. You buy the dress along with a pair of black heels to go with it. The tailor hands you the package and you go outside. You look around for signs of Arthur but find nothing. Heading over to Rannoch, you see Artemis is gone. You tell yourself not to panic, that everything is fine.  


You strap the package over Rannoch’s hindquarters and then mount up, trotting leisurely down the street. On the corner, you see a small boy selling maps of the city, so you buy one.  


You study the map and figure that Arthur must have gone to only a few possible places: either the saloon on the main road of Saint Denis or the store down by the railroad. You fold the map up and wander over to the main street. You have to move somewhat slowly due to the traffic. You spot the saloon on the other side of the street but don’t see Artemis. Just down on the next street, however, you spot her hitched to a post. You trot quickly over to her and hitch Rannoch. She nickers at you fondly and you feed her a treat.  


You look down the street and see Arthur’s recognizable form. He’s not alone. A woman stands in front of him, a little too close for a stranger. Her hair is finely plaited down her back and she wears an elegant day dress. You furrow your brow, wondering what the two are doing. You begin walking slowly towards them. As you get closer, you realize the woman’s beautiful: dark hair and eyes, her skin looks soft and clean. Her hands are long and clean as well, clasping in front of her. She looks vaguely familiar.  


“We were so very young, Arthur,” you hear her say. “Think about how different life could have been if…”  


“Yeah I think about it,” he says gently. “A lot actually.”  


“Will you try and help me save Daddy?”  


“I can’t, Mary.”  


You feel as though you’ve been hit by a train at the sound of her name. You hide behind a thin pillar, watching them. A wave of emotions bursts inside you: jealousy, betrayal, hate, pain and confusion. You don’t want to believe that Arthur’s standing there with this woman, yet here he is in plain sight.  


“Just like you couldn’t marry me,” he continues, “and I couldn’t change and so on and so forth. I just can’t.”  


“Okay,” she says softly, hiding her disappointment.  


“Your father was horrible to me. I ain’t gonna be his nurse maid.” He turns and takes a few steps from her, rubbing his neck. Somehow he doesn’t see you.  


“I understand. You… I…” she fumbles, stepping closer to him again. “Be well, Arthur.”  


She takes his hand. You feel another punch in your chest when he doesn’t take it away.  


“I’ve really missed you,” she says, gazing into his eyes.  


He takes his other hand and places it on top of hers. Another punch.  


“I missed you for a long time,” he says. “But…”  


A fourth strike and you’ve seen enough. Holding in your gasps as best you can, you turn and leave, not caring how loud you might be walking. You mount up on Rannoch and take one last look at the pair. You realize that you’ve been a bigger fool than you could possibly imagine. You’ve been nothing but a second option to him. Given his way, Arthur would choose Mary over you. The tears in your eyes overflow and streak down your cheeks as you see them, still holding hands. From the distance, you see Arthur pat her hands and then let them go. Just as he does, he looks over and sees you. You don’t take another second to register the look on his face. You turn Rannoch and gallop down the street, nearly knocking a man in a top hat over. He screams at you to slow down, but you ignore him.  


You have to get out of this city. The buildings seem to arch high over you, ready to close in and collapse, burying you in their rubble. “Let it bury them!” you whisper. You head down the same way you came in with Arthur, pounding across the long wooden bridge and past an old slaughter house. You pass Carnegie Hall, kicking Rannoch to go faster. He snorts in protest but speeds up. You can’t stop, you won’t stop.  


Within moments, you’re on the path leading to Shady Belle. You stop Rannoch and lay down on his neck, patting him. You don’t know if you can go there, not when you look the way you do. You’ve been crying the entire trip, terrified that Arthur might be coming after you but possibly even more terrified that he isn’t. The hot, muggy air of the swamps fills your lungs, choking you. You know you can’t stay here long. You do your best to clean up your face and trot down the path towards the old house.  


You dismount Rannoch by the bridge and do your best to hide your face with the brim of your hat. You hear Hosea greet you quietly but you don’t respond. You stomp into the house, up the stairs and into Arthur’s room.  


You begin packing up the few belongings that are yours, your chest aching. You can hear someone running up the stairs, but you ignore it, continuing on. You slide the last of your things into your satchel when the door bursts open and Arthur walks in, his face pale.  


“Y/N,” he says, his voice shaky.  


You look at him and do your best to glare. It must work, along with the added effect of your red and puffy eyes, because he looks away.  


“I’m so sorry,” he begins.  


You march over to him and look at him for a second before you turn to head out the door. His arm reaches out and blocks the doorway.  


“Please, let me make this up to you,” he begs. “Let’s talk about this.”  


“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say in a surprisingly steady voice.  


“Please, Y/N. Just hear what I have to say and then… and then you can leave. I won’t stop ya.”  


You sigh and tilt your head back, trying to fight off the new wave of tears. The last thing you want to do is stay in the same room with him, but you figure he should at least have a chance to give you whatever bullshit excuse he has for seeing her. You turn and face the room before beginning to walk over to the chair by the table. His hand reaches to touch your shoulder, but you slap it away. You sit down and motion to the bed.  


“Well, give me what you got,” you say harshly.  


He sighs and walks over to sit down on it. He looks down, his eyes hidden by his hat. He clasps his hands for a moment before he takes his hat off.  


“Yer right to be angry, Y/N,” he says, glancing up at you. “I deserve it.”  


A tense moment of silence passes. You bite your lip and finally speak. “Am I a joke to you, Arthur?”  


He looks up at you, his brow furrowed.  


“Am I just someone for you to fool around with?” you continue. “You can’t have her, so I’m better than nothing, is that it?”  


“No, no that’s not it at all.”  


“Don’t fucking lie to me, Arthur!” you say, the tears welling up again. “You love her, only a complete moron could miss that. Now I may not be the smartest person in this damn camp, but I’m not that thick. I’m just your second option.”  


“That ain’t it, Y/N. I went there to… I went there to tell her to stop writin’ me!”  


You narrow your eyes. “And you couldn’t do that with me there? You couldn’t just ask me to go with you? What better way to tell your ex to stop bothering you than introducing her to your current girlfriend?”  


“I didn’t know how to ask.” His blue eyes look at you sadly.  


“No, that’s not it,” you hiss. You pause, blinking. “I get it, Arthur. She’s a lovely woman. I probably look like a frog compared to her, so you didn’t want me embarrassing you. You didn’t want her to see how you’ve settled for someone like me when you used to be involved with her.”  


“You’re wrong, Y/N. That ain’t how it is!” His voice is beginning to get sharp.  


“Bullshit, Arthur!”  


“So what are you goin’ to do?” he bites. “You gonna run off again on some bullshit huntin’ trip and try to get yerself killed again?”  


You feel like you’ve just been punched in the chest again. You look away as a large tear slides down your left cheek.  


“No, I learned my lesson, Arthur. Running just creates more problems.”  


You go silent for a moment. Arthur sighs in frustration and rubs his neck.  


“Y’know,” you say, your voice shaking. “I wish I had never run off that day. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have nearly gotten killed. Rain would still be here. And,” you bite your lip, several more tears sliding down. “I wouldn’t be so damn in love with you.”  


He looks down at his knees, knowing what you’re implying.  


“I know, darlin’. Yer right to regret gettin’ involved with me. If I could take it all back, I would. Not because I’m ashamed of you catchin’ us, but because I can’t stand knowin’ how badly I hurt you.”  


You hear him sniff as you wipe your cheeks.  


“But whatever happens next, I want you to know something. You were never a second option.”  


You look over at him, trying to keep the sobs hidden in your chest. His blue eyes search yours, a ring of moisture in them.  


“I ain’t never felt like this with anyone. Not even with Mary. Whatever you and I have, or had, it’s different. I don’t know how I could have made it this far without you.”  


The look on his face completely breaks you and you place your elbows on your knees, hiding your face in your hands and letting go. You feel Arthur gently touch your shoulder. You can feel his hesitancy, as though afraid you might slap him away again.  


“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I told you, I was a fool. I ain’t a smart man, or a good one for that matter. But I ain’t never lied to you, so please believe me. I only went there to tell her I found something better. I found you, and I can’t have her writin’ to me every time someone in her family needs rescuin’.”  


You do your best to recollect yourself and then lean back up. You refuse to look at him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest.  


“What do you want me to do?” you ask quietly.  


“That ain’t for me to decide, sweetheart. I hurt you. If you wanna leave, end this, then I won’t stop ya. If… if you decide to give me a second chance, then I’ll, well, I’ll do my best to make you happy that you did.”  


You finally look over at him and nod. “I ain’t leavin’ you, Arthur. I can’t. But please understand that I don’t think I can be alone with you again. At least not for a while.”  


He nods, his eyes heartbreakingly sad. “I understand. I won’t force ya.”  


His hand drops down and pats your knee. He leans back on the bed, clasping his hands together. You stand up and head out the door, wishing you could melt into the floorboards.


	18. A Snake in an Italian Suit

Warnings: swearing, angst, blood, death  
Word count: ~9000

You sit by the fire, nursing a large bottle of whiskey. It’s night and camp is quiet, except for the endless chorus of frogs. You haven’t seen Arthur since you left the room; you’re not sure how you feel about that. You lift the bottle, taking a long drink, gritting your teeth at the burn.  


Someone sits down on the log beside you. You look over and see Arthur, his own eyes bloodshot. He’s been drinking, too. He’s holding something in his hand, but you look away without taking note of what it is.  


“Hey, Y/N,” he slurs.  


“Arthur.”  


He sighs heavily and then he lifts up the item in his hand. Glancing over, you see it’s his photo of Mary. He looks at it and then, without a word, he tosses it into the fire. You both watch as the flames devour it, the metal frame turning black. Smoke begins billowing from under the glass, discoloring the melting photo. You watch Mary’s turn from brown to black until it’s gone.  


“I wanted you to know how much you matter to me, sweetheart.”  


“I know, Arthur.”  


“I know ya ain’t ready to be with me yet, so I figure you can have the bed. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”  


“You don’t have to do that, Arthur. I’m not going to kick you outta your bed.”  


“I want ya to have it. I’m the one who messed up.”  


You sigh and reach over to him, grabbing his hand. “Okay. We’ll get through this, Arthur.”  


He doesn’t look at you but you feel his hand squeeze yours. After a moment, you get up, stating that you’re going to bed. When you reach the stairs of the house, you turn back and look at him. He’s still staring into the fire. Feeling hollow, you go inside and up into your room.  


You settle down in the bed, which feels oddly large and cold without Arthur’s broad form beside you. You wish now that you’d asked him to come up with you as you hug the moldy wall, but you still aren’t sure how you feel about everything. You roll over on your side, hoping that maybe he’ll come up during the night.

You wake up to find the bed empty. Looking around, you see you’re alone in the room. You sigh and get up, putting your boots back on and go into the hallway. You head into the large room adjoining the one that Dutch and Molly share. Opening the donation box, you glance outside and see Arthur sitting on a crate, talking to the other girls.  


“You’re lucky, ya know?” a voice says from behind you. You turn and see Molly standing a few feet behind you, her eyes focused on Arthur outside.  


“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” you ask.  


“Everyone can see how in love with you that man is. That’s what makes you so lucky. I wish I… I wish he still looked at me like that.”  


You know she’s talking about Dutch. Ever since the gang arrived in Shady Belle, they’ve spent hardly any time together, and when they have, all they’ve done is argue. You’ve seen Molly sitting in the corners of various rooms, drinking heavily. Her eyes are slightly puffy now and her face is red and blotchy as though she’s recently been crying.  


“I ain’t too sure he loves me as much as everyone thinks,” you finally sigh.  


“Don’t be stupid, Y/N.”  


“I ain’t. It’s just… Arthur loves somebody else. He says I’m not a second option, but I know he loves her more than me.”  


“You’re talking about that Mary,” she says.  


You nod, your chest still feeling strangely hollow.  


“You’re a lot duller than I thought, Y/N,” she says simply, her arms folding across her chest.  


“Excuse me?” you say sharply.  


“Ya heard what I said. Ya wouldn’t know what it feels like to be a second option because ya aren’t one, Y/N.”  


“How would you know, Ms. O’Shea?”  


“Don’t be ridiculous. I know what everyone else has been sayin’ about me. I know that bastard has been goin’ around, flirtin’ with all the girls. He’d be doin’ it with you too if Arthur weren’t so damn in love with you.”  


You aren’t surprised Molly knows about him being on the brink of cheating on her, it wasn’t like he was trying hard to hide it. You find yourself somewhat repulsed by the idea that Arthur is the only thing stopping him from courting you.  


“Y’know,” she continues, “sometimes at night he says her name.”  


“Whose?”  


“Annabelle. That ol’ crone Grimshaw told me all about her. How her death changed Dutch. He can’t have her no more, so I’m better than being alone.”  


You bite your lip, remembering what Arthur had told you of how Molly met Dutch.  


“I… I’m real sorry, Ms. O’Shea.”  


“Don’t be sorry for me!” she snaps. “I don’t want your pity! I just… I wish I’d never come here to this horrible country with all you people!”  


She raises her hands in the air and marches out of the room. Something in your gut tells you she’s right. Arthur doesn’t view you as simply a second option, something better than nothing. Your eyes turn to look at him once more as he continues talking to the other girls.  


You decide to go outside, not wanting to have to smell the mustiness of the permanently damp house. You head down the stairs and down the hallway. As you begin opening the door, you’re startled by Hosea standing just on the other side.  


“Jesus, Hosea!” you say, taking a step back.  


“Sorry, Y/N,” he chuckles. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m glad I found you.”  


“Why? What’s going on?”  


“Tonight’s that ridiculous ball held at the mayor’s mansion for Mr. Bronte. Arthur said a few days ago you were coming. Is that still the plan?”  


You huff, wondering how many people know about your argument.  


“Yes, of course I am. I said I’d go and that ain’t changing.”  


“Well good. You best finish your work quickly, need to be ready to leave by afternoon.”  


You nod and head over to Pearson’s wagon, determined to work quickly. You decide to wait to talk to Arthur tonight, perhaps while you get ready. He spots you from his crate, his eyes still hold yesterday’s sadness. You raise your hand and wave at him, which pulls a small smile from his face. Feeling slightly better, you begin scrubbing yesterday’s dishes.

You stand just beyond the gates of Shady Belle on guard duty, the repeater in your hand. You lean against the stone wall that borders the property, sighing in boredom.  


You still haven’t spoken to Arthur, nor has he come looking for you. You figure he’s giving you your space. Your partially relieved, but you also wish he was at least around. He hasn’t left camp all day, working on his own chores. The last time you’d seen him, he was working on repairing one of the wagons with John.  


Something in the trees rustles, causing you to lean forward. You wonder if it’s Kieran, who still hasn’t been seen since Jack’s party. A doe walks through the brush, pulling a relieved sigh from you. You remember the events of the doe that led to Rain’s death. Despite how much you adore Rannoch and are glad to have him in your life, you still miss her. You wonder what your life would be like now if you hadn’t ever run off and gotten captured. You realize now that it’s impossible to know what life would be like had you not done it. The untaken paths of history are unknowable. You sigh heavily, leaning back on the wall.  


Karen approaches you. “Hey, girl. Hosea wanted me to take over for you. Says you got some party to go to.”  


“Yeah, guess I do.”  


You hand her the repeater and are just about to walk away towards the house when she grabs your shoulder.  


“He’s real sorry, you know,” she says.  


You smile softly. “I know. I’ve known since last night. But… it’s complicated.”  


“No it’s not. He’s willing to let her go for you. Y’know, that man’s been chasin’ that Mary as long as I known him. Wouldn’t drop her for nothin’. Until you came along. That’s somethin’ real special, Y/N.”  


For some reason, her words pull the hollow feeling from your chest. You smile and thank her.  


“Guess I have a ball to get ready for,” you say foolishly. Karen laughs and turns to look down the empty path. You jog towards the house and up the stairs. You walk into your room, hoping to find Arthur. Instead you find Mary-Beth and Tilly, chatting away happily.  


“What’s going on?” you ask.  


“Well, Grimshaw figured you could use some help getting ready,” Mary-Beth stated.  


“I can do this just fine on my own, ladies,” you say, not wanting to be a bother.  


“Please, Y/N,” Tilly says, her eyes sparking. “When was the last time you been to a fancy ball like this?”  


“Well never, but…”  


“Exactly. This is one of them things where everyone will be judging everyone who’s there. We can’t have you goin’ there upon lookin’ like some country bumpkin in a fancy dress.”  


You start laughing. “Okay, okay! Just don’t make it too fancy.”  


“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Mary-Beth says.  


You notice they’ve brought up some buckets of water and they help scrub you down since you still haven’t managed to make it to town for a bath. Once you’re cleaned up, they instruct you to sit in the chair. Together they tackle your hair, using some pomade to slick and style it. Mary-Beth’s fingers work quickly to pull your hair into a tight bun with coiled ringletts dripping down to your shoulders. Tilly uses a powder in order to clean up your face and highlight your cheeks. When you ask her where she got it, she simply states that she stole it off some man she passed on the road.  


Once your hair and face are done, they help you put on the petticoat and then they tie up the corset. You’re glad they don’t lace it nearly as tight as the woman in the tailor’s shop did, but it’s still uncomfortable. You wonder how some women do this daily as you’re already feeling breathless.  


Finally, Mary-Beth pulls out the green dress and you slip into it. Tilly ties it off in the back and then they help you into the high heels. Once you’re completely dressed, they stand in front of you and laugh. Mary-Beth even claps a few times.  


“Ooh, Arthur’s not going to know what hit him!” she says excitedly.  


“Relax, you two,” you say, rolling your eyes and looking down at yourself. “It’s not like we’re getting married. It’s just some stupid ball. Remember, we’re going there to rob people!”  


You push past them with a laugh and begin walking down the stairs, trying not to trip. It’s been a long time since you’ve worn heels, you’re no longer accustomed to it. You walk down the hall, reminding yourself to walk like a lady. Pushing the doors open, you head out onto the dirt and towards the broken fountain where Hosea, Bill, Dutch and Arthur stand, already in their identical cocktail suits, complete with tailcoats. Arthur’s back is to you. Dutch fiddles fondly with his top hat and gestures to you as he talks with Arthur.  


Arthur turns and his brow lifts as he sees you, taking in the sight of your dress hugging your frame. You feel extremely self conscious as you walk towards them, grabbing one of your elbows as you walk, trying not to look at any of them.  


“About time you got out here, we been waitin’ forever!” Bill says sharply.  


“Shut up, Bill,” Arthur snaps as you approach him. “You boys go wait in the stage, will ya?” The others chuckle and walk away.  


You look across the bridge and see Lenny, dressed as a city driver, sitting atop a stagecoach. You’re not entirely sure how the gang acquired it, but you don’t really care enough to ask.  


Arthur looks at you, a soft smile on his lips.  


“Hi,” you say nervously, looking down and still holding your elbow.  


“Now no one’s gonna believe you’re a city girl if you act like that,” he says teasingly. “Now come on.” He lifts your chin gently so as to look at you. “Ya gotta play the part. Ya already look it.”  


“I ain’t too sure how to do this, Arthur.”  


“Well, I don’t either. Maybe we can figure it out together?”  


He smiles widely at you and offers you his arm, which you take. He guides you towards the carriage, looking prouder than ever.  


“By the way, you look good in a suit,” you say.  


“Ah, I look ridiculous.”  


“No, you don’t. Seriously, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in this more often.”  


“Only if I see you wearin’ that more,” he gestures to the dress.  


“Not a chance. I’m already looking forward to taking it off. This corset’s gonna be the death of me.”  


He chuckles as he opens the stage door for you.  


“M’lady,” he says. You smile at him and climb into the stage, which is already cramped with the other three men. Once Arthur sits down, it’s almost unbelievable the door even closes.  


“Hey, how come I’m the only girl?” you ask Dutch as you try to adjust yourself since you’re squished between him and Arthur.  


He huffs. “Ain’t it obvious, Y/N?”  


“No. I think people might find it strange that I’m the only girl among you boys.”  


“It won’t be that strange, Y/N,” Hosea says. “Most people will figure my wife is passed away, which she is. As for Dutch and Bill, well they can make their own assumptions.”  


“However, due to the circumstances,” Dutch says, “it will be best if you and Arthur pretend to be married. We don’t want to arouse too much suspicion.”  


You swallow heavily, reminding yourself that it’s only pretend. It’s not even the fact that you and Arthur are a bit rocky. After you were forced into marriage by your father, you began to view marriage as nothing more than a means for men to own women in a legal bind or part of a silly fairytale. After you killed your husband, you told yourself you would never marry again.  


Lenny whips the horses, carting you off to Saint Dennis. Along the way, the chatter in the stage takes on a merrier tone, jokes begin passing around. You find yourself laughing particularly hard at a story Hosea tells as the carriage moves steadily along the lit streets of the city.  


“We are utterly ridiculous!” Dutch guffaws.  


“I ain’t never been to a ball in my life,” Arthur admits roughly as Hosea coughs.  


“Nor have I, if I’m being honest,” Dutch says as he pours a couple of glasses of champagne.  


“Now that I don’t believe, Mr. Van der Linde,” you say as he hands you a glass.  


“No, it’s true! Never saw the point of it.”  


“I used to quite often,” Hosea says. “There can be fine pickings.”  


“No, no!” Dutch says. “We are here to make real contacts, not to go pickpocketing!”  


“What kind of contacts?” Arthur asks.  


“We’ll find what we can. All I know for sure is we are going to a party at the mayor’s house and the guest of honor is the worst crook in town! I’m sure we will find something.”  


You all laugh again at the ludicrous yet accurate fact.  


The coach pulls up to the gates of a large, elegant house. You file out as Dutch hands a man at the gates a slip of paper. The man asks everyone to hand him their weapons and they hand him their pistols without a word.  


“Luca here will see you to Signor Bronte,” the man says. “He is expecting you.”  


“Follow me, gentlemen. Ah, may I ask who the woman is?” Luca gestures to you, speaking in a thick French accent.  


You step forward slightly nervous until Arthur offers you his arm. “She’s my wife, sir. She’s, uh, never been to a garden party and wanted to experience one.”  


“Ah, of course, sir. Follow me then.”  


Luca leads your group up to the large house and onto the rounded porch. The pristine white double doors open. Inside, you are greeted by a large staircase trimmed with dark red carpets. The floors are made of highly polished wood, a thick, clean rug sits in the center of the room. Six Grecian columns support the ceiling far above your head. The walls are lit by handsome, electric sconces, paintings of men and scenery adorn the walls. You thought the tailor’s shop had been a fine example of architecture, but it’s nothing compared to this. Two maids wander about the room without looking at the group. A butler in a white suit passes you without a glance.  


“Signor Bronte is very good friends with the mayor,” Luca says, leading you through an arched doorway to the left of the stairs. You peak through a doorway with a dark oak door and spot a long dining table, dressed with a spotless white cloth and a large vase of pink and red flowers, sided by two crystal candelabras.  


You hold onto Arthur’s arm a little tighter, feeling slightly nervous, as Luca leads you into a new room. This one is nearly as fine as the one you’ve just left, but it’s clear it doesn’t see many guests.  


“Hosea, Bill, Y/N, you join the party,” Dutch instructs. “We’ll join you after we pay our respects to Mr. Bronte.”  


“I think Y/N should come with me, Dutch,” Arthur says. “She is my wife after all.”  


You try to hold in your smile. Arthur is enjoying this pretend role a little too much, you think. It makes you wonder if he just doesn’t want to let you go. A twinge of guilt enters your gut as you remember how you’ve treated him since that Mary business.  


Dutch nods. “Very well. But Mrs. Morgan,” he gestures to you without batting an eye. “Probably best you say nothing. Let me handle everything.”  


You lift your head and meet him with a steady stare, silently acknowledging that you’ll do as he says. Dutch turns back to Luca as Bill and Hosea head out the glass double doors leading out to a large, covered back porch overlooking the gardens and the people milling about.  


“Follow me,” Luca says, gesturing to a stairwell leading off to the left. “Signor Bronte is on the veranda.”  


Arthur guides you up the stairs after Dutch. You pass more fine paintings set on soft green walls. As you reach the second floor, Luca hesitates and then quickly approaches a door hanging slightly open. He turns the key in the lock and puts it into his pocket before motioning you forward. He leads you towards another pair of glass double doors opening out to the veranda where several men in expensive suits lounge about, smoking cigars and sipping champagne.  


“Ah, the angry cowboys!” A man with a sharp face and dark, clever eyes says to Dutch and Arthur. “So glad you’ve arrived! And you’ve washed!”  


The man turns and says something in Italian to his companion standing next to him, who chuckles appreciatively. The man spots you clutching to Arthur’s arm and his eyes widen as they roam over your body, making you uncomfortable.  


“Ah, and who is this bella donna?”  


“This is Y/N Morgan,” Dutch says, looking back at you.  


“Ah, you are a very lucky man, Mr. Morgan.”  


The man approaches you and offers his hand, which you take simply out of propriety.  


“Angelo Bronte at your service, signora,” he kisses your hand. You resist the temptation to whip it out of his grasp.  


“Pleasure, Signor,” you say, wrapping your hand around Arthur’s once again.  


Bronte goes back to the bannister where he was before, turning to his companion once again. “Probabilmente si sono incontrati dopo averla scopata nella prateria aperta.” The man next to him laughs again.  


“This is quite a party you’ve invited us to,” Dutch says appreciatively, shaking Bronte’s hand.  


“Yes, quite something, though I’m not sure what.”  


“So this is Saint Denis high society?” Dutch leans forward on the bannister, gazing at the party going on down below. You and Arthur do the same. You admire the beautiful flowers on the sides of the vast courtyard, a large fountain playing in the center. Several tables laden with food settle on the left side, waiters holding trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres flit through the crowd.  


“Yes apparently so,” Bronte says as a waiter offers Dutch and Arthur cigars. They take them with a slight nod.  


“And all these people,” Dutch continues. “They friends of yours?”  


“No, not quite, but they certainly are afraid of me.”  


You hear a tearing sound and see Arthur biting off the end of his cigar, spitting it out over the side.  


Bronte begins pointing people out who are high in society but whom Bronte views as being beneath him, including the mayor. You get the sense that Bronte views himself as a king lording over the entire city. The waiter lights a match and holds it to Dutch. He begins to take it away when Arthur grabs his arm and lights his own, nodding to him once.  


“Oh! And the redskins!” Bronte points out to two men by the fountain with a laugh. “I have no sympathy for them because whoever is stupid enough to be tricked by the Americans, they get what they deserve, huh?”  


Bronte’s men smile and laugh in agreement. You notice Arthur and Dutch glaring slightly at him, but they say nothing. You yourself are liking this man less and less. You’re starting to feel an alligator would be more appealing than this man.  


“And that is Hector Fellowes,” Bronte points out a round man with thick glasses. “The self righteous newspaperman. Maybe you will kill him for me one day, huh?”  


He looks to Dutch expectantly.  


“We’re not paid killers, not in cold blood anyways,” Dutch says simply.  


“I did not know you were so particular that you wouldn’t help a friend.”  


“Oh, I’m willing to help in anyway I can within reason.”  


“I’m going to pretend to know what that means,” Bronte says, a threat hidden.  


“I meant no offence, sir,” Dutch replies.  


“Ah, none taken. None taken!” Bronte smiles widely, but you don’t like the sparkle in his clever eyes. The group around you settles visibly and continues to look over at the party going on below.  


“All these vulgar people,” Bronte continues, “they hate me. Non vedo l'ora di vederti morire!”  


The other men laugh again as he waves to the crowd. No one below looks up, but you get the feeling he’s yelling insults to them.  


“Well, it has been wonderful conversing with you,” Dutch says. “But I can tell that you are very busy and we won’t waste anymore of your time.”  


Bronte nods and smiles. ‘Yes, yes go enjoy yourselves and mingle with these vulgar scum. It’ll make you long for the days when you could shoot each other and screw cows on the open range!”  


“Those were the days,” Dutch says with a nasty smile. He nods once more to Bronte and then leaves through the glass double doors. You and Arthur follow. You sigh, grateful to finally be leaving this awful man’s presence. Just as you’re about to walk through the doors into the mansion, Bronte stops Dutch.  


“Ah, before you go, what exactly are your plans here?”  


“We’ve not made any,” Dutch says, glancing at you and Arthur. “Except, well, we are going to need some money.”  


“Yes, of course. Well, there’s plenty of money at the trolley station. They keep plenty of cash there during the day. Now, I could not involve myself in such matters but you? Easy. In fact, as my guest, I say do it! Okay, okay. Good day gentlemen. Adio, bella donna!” Bronte bows slightly to you and you simply smile back, no longer caring for manners.  


Arthur guides you back into the house and down the stairs. You head outside to meet with Hosea and Bill, who are standing on the covered porch above the courtyard. A group of men playing violins and cellos sits below, playing a tune you can barely hear over the sound of the party.  


“Gentlemen,” Dutch says. “Let’s go ingratiate ourselves.” He gestures to Arthur. “Go and find the mayor if you can, but stay outta trouble. Remember, no stealing.”  


“Of course,” Arthur says, turning down to one of the staircases that leads out onto the courtyard, you still on his arm. You hear Dutch rumble something to Hosea and Bill as you descend.  


“What are we supposed to do now?” you ask him quietly.  


“Just as Dutch says. We’re gonna mingle, see if we can hear anything that might lead us to a job. Just keep yer ears open.”  


He straightens up to get a better view of the man Bronte pointed out as the mayor.  


“We best split up, be more effective that way. I’m gonna introduce myself to the mayor.”  


Arthur pats your hand and then slips his arm out of your grip before walking away towards the fountain and the group of men gathered there. You stand awkwardly, not really knowing what to do with yourself. A waiter with a tray of champagne passes you, so you grab a glass. You’ve never liked champagne, but it’ll give you something to do. You feel as though you’re a teen again at one of those horrible parties your cousin Emma forced you to attend with her and you hate it.  


You wander the courtyard, giving a wide berth to Arthur as he mingles around the mayor but always keeping him in your sight. You join different groups of gossiping women, only bothering to stay for a few moments at a time as you sip your drink. Most of them simply pass mindless chatter about other people they know, places they’ve been or things they’ve heard. You catch nothing that could lead to a potential job until…  


“Did you know my husband Henry has been invited to a party on the Flying Grace? Oh, I could hardly believe my ears when he told me!” a particularly fat woman in a yellow dress says as she sips her champagne. You stop a few feet away from her, curious.  


“Isn’t that the riverboat party setting out next week?” a scrawny woman asks.  


“Yes, yes!” the fat woman says. “You know how those parties are. Only the richest fellows are invited. I sincerely hope he wasn’t invited simply to be the laughing stock of the night.”  


They pass a bit more information regarding the party until you’ve heard enough to tell Dutch. Feeling sure, you wander over to the buffet table and grab a small plate of quiche, which you’ve never tried before but find you rather enjoy.  


“Ah, I’ll be glad to get out of this place,” Arthur says, grabbing himself a plate, startling you slightly.  


“Oh, thank God it’s you. You done?” you ask.  


“Just about. Might want to wander a bit more, see if we can find anything else.”  


“In a bit, I’m sick of wandering. Plus I heard rumors of fireworks. I haven’t seen those since I was a kid,” you say hopefully.  


Arthur finishes his quiche and nods. “Okay.”  


The musicians under the balcony finish their piece and begin a new, waltzing tune. A young woman near them, younger than you, smiles excitedly at the man she’s with. They quickly run to a clear spot near the musicians and take up in a dance. Their mood seems to catch on because several other couples begin to dance as well.  


Arthur clears his throat. “You care to join in?”  


You look up at him. You’re not fond of dancing, but he looks like he’s expecting you to say no.Your stomach twinges guiltily again. You recall the things you said to him, especially the part about regretting falling in love with him, which isn’t true. You don’t want to think about where you’d be now without him. You nod and take his hand, leading him to the floor.  


Arthur sighs happily as he holds up your joined hands, his other sliding over your hip. You place your hand on his shoulder and he begins leading you in the circular movements of the dance. You notice he’s not as smooth or as clean as the other men around you both, but you don’t care since you’re certainly not very graceful either.  


After a moment, you smile at him. “We haven’t done this in a long time,” you say.  


He chuckles softly, squeezing your hand. “Not since Sean came back. Ah, I miss that kid.”  


“I know. I miss him too. It seems like things have gotten worse for everybody since he…”  


“Yes. I just hope things change.”  


His smile fades and he looks above your head as he leads you in the dance. You feel something heavy in your gut again, almost as though you swallowed a snake. You know what it is that’s bothering you.  


“Arthur, I’m sorry,” you say finally.  


“For what?”  


“For that whole Mary drama. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I believe that you simply went to tell her to leave you alone. I… I don’t regret falling for you, Arthur. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”  


He smiles and leans down, placing a kiss on your head.  


“Well, I’m glad, sweetheart. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me too. And I was bein’ serious when I said I ain’t never felt this way about anyone before.”  


“I know, me too.”  


He suddenly pulls you close, though his hand doesn’t leave yours. You close your eyes as his chin gently rests against your head. You sigh and smile, secretly hoping the music will never end. But end it does. The other couples stop dancing, some begin to clap even. Arthur pulls away from you, but he’s smiling and his eyes are crinkled.  


A sudden bang echoes above you and you flinch before you look up and see the blue dots drifting slowly across the river. Another small stream of light launches up into the air and explodes in a shower of red and gold. Many of the others gasp at the colors of the fireworks.  


“Come on, let’s get a better view,” Arthur says.  


He squeezes your hand and leads you gently forward, past the large fountain in the center of the courtyard. When he stops, you let go of his hand simply to fold your arms around his, leaning your head against his shoulder. He chuckles softly, pressing a hand against yours.  


You watch the fireworks for a moment, listening to the women around you express their awe. You hear the sound of a man asking people to move, his voice getting gradually louder until it stops behind you at the group of men that involves the mayor. You glance back and notice the man in a white tailcoat beckoning to the mayor. Arthur notices too and he gently inches the both of you closer to them to listen in.  


“Mr. Cornwall was quite insistent, I’m afraid,” the man says quickly to the mayor. “He shouted on the telephone for several minutes.”  


“Mr. Cornwall is a horse’s ass,” the mayor says in a thick French accent. You’ve noticed at this party that seems to be the trend. “And a bad horse at that.”  


“My apologies, sir.”  


“No, it’s not your fault. I never should have trusted him. I’ll come and sign the papers in a moment, let me enjoy the fireworks.”  


“Of course, monsieur.”  


Dutch approaches inconspicuously from Arthur’s other side. “Did he just say something about Cornwall?”  


“I think so,” Arthur whispers back.  


“Go find out what.”  


Arthur nods and slips out of your grip in order to follow the man. You remain with Dutch, watching him walk away.  


“Well, Mrs. Morgan,” Dutch says with a small laugh. “How are you enjoying this fine party?”  


“Hmm,” you say, turning back to the fireworks. “I don’t think it quite lives up to my standards, to be honest.”  


He chuckles and nods. “Yes, I think I agree with you. However, it has had its benefits.”  


“Like what?”  


“Well,” Dutch says, glancing over at the group of men the mayor is with. You notice a man with a kind face and dark mutton chops standing next to him. “I had the immense pleasure of meeting Mr. Evelyn Miller.”  


“Ah,” you say. You’ve heard Dutch quoting from the man’s books many times. Most of the passages tend to go over your head and you find little use for them. “Must have been a dream come true, Mr. Van der Linde.”  


He laughs again softly. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t overly enjoy it. Not only that, I can tell you’ve quite enjoyed being addressed as Mrs. Morgan.”  


You blush at this comment. “Oh, it’s just pretend, Dutch. We all know it doesn’t…” you’re not sure how to finish the sentence. The fact is that you have enjoyed it, but the idea of marriage still terrifies you. Besides, you’ve no doubt in your mind that Arthur has no interest in it.  


Dutch chortles as you trail off. “Well, come on, miss. Let’s rejoin the others. Arthur shouldn’t be much longer.”  


He walks away and you follow him to the balcony where Hosea’s standing.  


“Anything?” Dutch asks him.  


“Possibly. May have heard something about a bank job.”  


“And I heard something about a riverboat job with a high stakes poker game,” you chip in.  


“Excellent. I’ll put the word in to Trelawney, see if he can find a way in on that,” Dutch replies. He leans over on the bannister as Arthur exits the mansion.  


“Find anything?” Dutch asks as Arthur leans over with him.  


“Thinks so,” he pats his chest, indicating he has something in his inner coat pocket.  


“Nothing!” Bill says, walking up the stairs. “This city is a waste of time!”  


“Not quite. Arthur may have something,” Dutch says.  


“Gentlemen, Y/N,” Hosea says, clasping his hands. “I think we’re done here.”  


Dutch nods and gestures to the double doors leading inside. He walks towards them and you grab Arthur’s arm again, letting him guide you out. The five of you walk through the mansion and out the doors as Hosea quietly discusses a potential score involving the city’s bank.  


“There’s also the trolley station Bronte told us about,” Dutch says as you walk out the main front doors and onto the front walkway. They approach the men guarding the front gates and their guns are handed back to them.  


“Here comes Lenny,” Dutch says as the stage draws up and stops. You file in before the others and sit beside the door, Arthur sitting next to you. He grabs your hand as the carriage begins moving.  


“I ain’t never felt so awkward in all my life,” Bill snarls from beside Hosea. “All them folk so pleased with themselves. High society’s pigeon shit! If you ask me, it’s more like torture.”  


“That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?” Dutch asks, gazing hard at Bill. “Let the people torture themselves.”  


Arthur reaches into his inner pocket. “Here’s them papers I took,” he says, handing them to Dutch. He reads them quickly and nods.  


“Anybody see you take this?”  


“Don’t think so,” Arthur says.  


Dutch nods again. “I may have an idea.”  


The rest of the journey passes with Dutch and Hosea discussing the bank and trolley jobs. You smile as Bill fidgets with his bow tie. Arthur leans back, squeezing your hand.  


Lenny pulls the stage up to Shady Belle and you all file out. You’re glad to be back, the corset’s beginning to hurt quite a bit. You walk up the stairs to the house and turn to say something to Arthur, but you see him standing by the broken fountain.  


“Arthur, what are you doing?”  


“I…” he says. He walks up to you slowly, not looking you in the eye. “I wasn’t planning on spending the night in the room, darlin’. Didn’t know if you’re...”  


“Arthur,” you say sadly, holding your hand out to him. “I missed you last night. Besides I need help getting out of this damned thing.”  


He smiles and takes your hand, letting you take him upstairs and into the room. He whips off his coat and unbuttons the waistcoat. You kick off your heels and unbutton as much of the dress as you can. “Arthur, help me,” you say, turning your back to him.  


He comes towards you and begins undoing the remaining of the buttons.  


“You need help with this?” he asks, gently tugging on the corset.  


“Please. I can’t wait to breathe again.”  


He chuckles and unties it, letting it fall to the ground. You gasp, filling your lungs. He laughs softly and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple.  


“I missed you last night, too, darlin’.”  


You smile and rub his arm. “Mm, I didn’t mind seeing you in that suit though.”  


“Ah, I think your costume was more uncomfortable, but I still hated mine.”  


You giggle and look back at him; he places a gentle kiss to your lips. “Should we go to bed?” he suggests.  


You smile and unfold his arms from around you so you can slip off the petticoat. You slip into the bed in nothing but your undergarments and turn to face the wall. Arthur quickly undresses and climbs in behind you, his arm draping over your side. He kisses your neck before burying his face into your hair. You sigh happily, rubbing his hand.  


“Mm, love you, darlin’,” he says sleepily.  


You smile. “I’ll always love you, Arthur Morgan.” 

The next morning, you stand by the Pearson’s fire, drinking coffee with Arthur. He’s hardly left your side since last night, which you don’t mind. You wonder though if he’s just happy things have gone back to normal between you.  


“Arthur, you mentioned you wanted to go up to that lake near Colter,” you say.  


“I did. Still would like to, if you wanna come,” he says, taking a drink.  


“Course I do. Think you and me need to get out of here, have some time alone.”  


You think about how nice it will be to be out there in the world again, alone with Arthur. It’s not even the fact that you can make love as much as you’d like without fear of being overheard (despite having four walls in Shady Belle, they’re too thin for you and Arthur to do exactly what you’d like to one another). The last time you can recall going on a hunting trip with Arthur was in Big Valley when you first took him to bed properly.  


“Well good,” he says, pulling you from your thoughts. “Think we could go in a couple of hours. Need to do some work here first so that Grimshaw doesn’t skin us alive.”  


You chuckle, finishing your coffee. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”  


He pats your shoulder and heads off to a stump with an axe stuck in it. He grabs it and reaches down to pick up a log, placing it vertically on the stump. You purposefully wander over to the crates near Mary-Beth’s and Tilly’s tent so that you can watch him. Picking up a needle and some material, you peak over to him every few seconds, appreciating the view of his strong back and arms going to work.  


“That tends to work better with thread, you know,” Tilly says, catching your attention.  


“What?” you say, looking down and realizing that you’ve just been shoving the needle into the fabric. The two girls giggle, making you blush.You reach down and grab a line of thread.

It’s just past noon and you’re sitting in the gazebo near the river, reading from a book Hosea lent you, taking a break from chores. The book’s a bit silly, the story follows a detective but the diction the author uses is almost ridiculous. You wonder how it even got published, although you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it.  


“I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve picked that up,” a voice catches your attention. You look up and see Hosea.  


“Picked what up?”  


“Reading,” he says, sitting down next to you. You mark the page and close the book.  


“Well, it was something I wanted to do my whole life. My father,” you pause. Only Arthur knows the full story of your past. “My father believed women had no need for the skill of reading.”  


“Yes, I know some men don’t think you women are capable of doing so.”  


“Which is weird to me because his mother could read. She tried many times to teach me until my father threatened to separate us for good.”  


A moment of silence passes between the two of you. “It’s just strange,” you say finally.  


“What?”  


“That I should find a proper family with a group of vagabonds and criminals.”  


Hosea chuckles. “Yes, well I think most of us are here because life handed us a very raw deal. For some people, it’s easy to make it out there. But for us…”  


You both fall silent again, watching as Arthur approaches the porch of the mansion, greeting Sadie who’s cleaning her gun.  


“You’ve been a great thing for him, you know,” Hosea says, nodding in Arthur’s direction. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. In fact, this may be the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”  


You smile and look down to your lap. “Well, I’ve never been happier either.”  


Hosea gives you a sly look. “I know he had fun at that ball last night, and it was all because of you. Arthur hates those things, but he seemed to rather enjoy himself.”  


You giggle. “I would have enjoyed it more if I could have breathed properly. Think my ribs are bruised.”  


He laughs. “Well, I have been wondering about something since last night.”  


“What?”  


“If Arthur did ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, what would you say?”  


You swallow, your smile fading. “I… I don’t know, Hosea. You know I was married before, but I was forced into it, and… he beat me constantly and nearly starved me to death. If I hadn’t learned to hunt for myself, I wouldn’t be here.”  


“I know. But it would be different with Arthur. He would never hurt you and he would take great pride in providing for you. Hell, you know better than anyone how much the gang has to thank him for having full bellies.”  


You smile and relax slightly. “I know.”  


Hosea pauses. “I was married to my Bessie for nearly twenty years. It was the best decision I ever made. She sacrificed quite a lot so I could live this lifestyle, but she knew that before she married me, and I did everything in my power to care for her.”  


“You must have loved each other a lot.”  


“We did. To be honest, Y/N, the way I’ve seen you look at Arthur. It’s the same way Bessie used to look at me.”  


You don’t really know what to say, so you smile and look down again. A thought passes through your mind, filling you with doubt.  


“That might be so, Hosea, but I doubt Arthur would want to… marry me.”  


“Why not?”  


You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to marry me.”  


“You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N.” He pauses again and sighs. “Did you know Arthur nearly married that Mary girl?”  


“What?”  


“Yes,” he nods, frowning. “It was a long time ago. Maybe fifteen years. Not long after he met her. She had some kind of pull on him, but I tried telling him many times she was just playing games with him. He didn’t wanna listen to me, so one day he comes to camp all proud and saying he was going to be a married man.”  


You glance over at Arthur. Dutch walks up to him and says something before they both troop inside the mansion.  


“What happened?”  


“Well, Arthur told me he didn’t propose to her, she proposed to him. Her daddy made her angry so she suggested it to him and he agreed. Two days before their set date, Arthur gets a letter from her saying she can’t marry him, it’ll break her daddy’s heart. She then told him that she’d recently met a man named Barry who was more suited for her. A few months later, he got word that they married.”  


You furrow your brows sadly. “Poor Arthur. I knew she hurt him, but that’s even beneath my expectations.”  


“Ours, too. She claimed that if he would be a better man, she would have married him. She used that excuse a lot.”  


“People don’t change,” you state simply.  


“I know. Arthur knows too. But I’m glad now that it didn’t work out between them. It allowed you in the picture. Face it, Y/N,” he pats your knee. “You two were meant to be.”  


You’re about to say something when you hear a horse walking down the path, its hooves clopping on the bridge. You and Hosea look to see who it is.  


Branwen, Kieran’s horse, walks slowly towards the broken fountain. His owner sits upon him, his head resting in his hands and his eyes gouged out. You and Hosea stand just as Mary-Beth screams.  


“There!” you hear Dutch yell from the balcony. “In the treeline!”  


You look to where he’s pointing and see a dozen men, black sacks hiding their faces. A blast fires into the air, causing you to flinch.  


“Everybody take cover!” Dutch yells as more shots ring out. You hunker down behind the crate you were just sitting on, pulling out your revolver and sawed-off. You hear Jack cry out and you stretch up to see him.  


“Jack!” John yells. Jack starts running to him until John picks him up and hides him behind one of the barricades. You spot Arthur hiding behind one of the pillars on the balcony, shooting into the crowd of O’Driscolls.  


“Women and children, inside!” Dutch hollers.  


“Go, Y/N!” Hosea yells, thumping your shoulder. You quickly dash over to the house. You climb the stairs as Arthur shoves the doors open.  


“Get inside!” he yells as you go in, followed by Tilly and Molly.  


Inside is nearly as chaotic as out, but at least it’s harder to get shot. The other women are running around in panic. John dashes in, carrying Jack. Arthur follows him and throws down a bookcase to block the door.  


“Stay away from the windows!” Dutch screams out. You dash over to the others hunkering down by the cold fireplace, your guns still in your hands. Molly, looking on the verge of tears, grasps you suddenly as Dutch barks orders to John and Arthur. They run to the back of the house where some of the O’Driscolls seem to have found their way.  


“Is everyone accounted for?” Dutch yells.  


“I think so,” Arthur calls back. “Where’s Sadie?”  


A wild scream answers him.  


“She’s still outside!” he yells. He must have run outside, you don’t hear him or his gun anymore.  


Charles runs into the room with you and the other women, taking his place by the window and shooting out of it. You want to help, but Molly has a surprisingly strong grip on you as she sobs into your shoulder.  


“Damn!” Charles says loudly. “I’m out!”  


He spots a machete lying on the mantle and grabs it before diving out the door. You hear the sickening impact of blade meeting skull. Several more shots ring out until suddenly everything falls silent.  


“They’re running for the trees!” Dutch yells from the front of the house. “Cowards!”  


“We okay?” you hear Hosea ask.  


“Think so. Oh, poor kid. Swanson, take Kieran here and get him buried.”  


“We need to get this place cleaned up!” Hosea says.  


“Grimshaw! Pearson!” Dutch hollers. The two stand and rush outside where Dutch instructs them to help clean camp up. Grimshaw barges back in, ordering you and the other women to help.  


“You’re okay, Ms. O’Shea,” you say to Molly, patting her back. She sniffs and pulls away from you. She stands up and runs to the back of the house where you hear her stomping up the stairs. You get up and, with Lenny’s help, you lift up the bookcase Arthur knocked down.  


You quickly head outside and see Arthur and John carrying a body towards the river. 

Nearly an hour has passed since the attack and the bodies have finally been cleared away. Despite the recent chaos, the camp is relatively untouched except for a few knocked over supply crates. Arthur walks towards the fountain with John, their hands bloodied. You rush over to him.  


“You okay?” you say.  


“Just fine. And you?”  


You nod, still slightly shaken from the ambush.  


“How about everyone else?” he asks.  


“I think they’re okay. Molly’s real shaken and Mary-Beth…” you pause. You know she and Kieran had been close friends. You even suspected Kieran harbored a small crush on her.  


“Ah, that poor kid,” Arthur says.  


“Who, Mary-Beth or Kieran?”  


“Both of them,” he says. He looks at you and you see a sadness in his eyes. “We keep losin’ folk, Y/N.”  


You grab his hand and lead behind the mansion towards an old and flooded graveyard beyond the boathouse. You see a large tree, settled high above the water line. Arthur gets the hint and sits down, allowing you to crawl into his lap. You sit in a way so you can bury your head into his neck. He holds on tight to you, sighing.  


“He saved my life, you know,” he says after a moment.  


“I heard. What happened?”  


“We was at Six Point Cabin lookin’ for that piece of shit Colm,” he explains, his hand gently rubbing your arm. “Kieran thought he was in the cabin, so I went to go check. As soon as I opened the door, I got knocked down by a man inside. He would have shot me if Kieran hadn’t gotten him first. Don’t know why he did it, Kieran had no reason to save me.” He pauses and swallows heavily. “And I couldn’t save him.”  


“Don’t blame this on yourself, Arthur.”  


“We all knew he was missin’, Y/N, but none of us did anything about it.”  


“Can I be honest, Arthur?”  


“Of course,” his lips brush your forehead.  


“Most of us thought he went back to the O’Driscolls after that whole thing with Jack.” You hate yourself for thinking how obvious it is that Kieran may have betrayed your gang.  


“I don’t know, darlin’. It’s possible they tracked him down. The fact that they sent him back to us like that. Well, tells me he didn’t return to them on good terms.”  


“He must have told them where we are. They wouldn’t have found us otherwise.”  


“Who knows what they put him through before he spilled, Y/N.”  


You both fall silent. You listen to the sound of Arthur’s heart beating, birds singing, an alligator from the river growls.  


“You know who fought best out of all of us?” Arthur suddenly says.  


“Who?”  


“Mrs. Adler. She’s got a wild streak in her. Somethin’ real feral took hold of her. I saw her take down three O’Driscolls in a matter of seconds by herself.”  


“Who would have thought,” you say.  


“She’s driven by somethin’ powerful. Guess that’s what love has done to her.”  


“You think that was love, Arthur?”  


“Maybe. Or maybe the loss of it. I can tell ya if… If I suddenly lost ya, there wouldn’t be much I’d be afraid of.”  


His words come rushing through your ears like a wave. You remember all the things Hosea said to you before Kieran’s body came into camp. You wonder what you’d be like if Arthur was suddenly no longer part of your life. In that brief moment of imagination, you feel like you understand Sadie and her fearlessness. You settle into his neck again, praying you never have to experience it. His arms wrap tighter around you, almost as though he’s thinking the same thing as you.  


After a few moments, a slight breeze picks up, coming from across camp. You get the faint scent of Pearson’s stew.  


“Come on,” you say, sitting up. “Let’s get something to eat.”  


He nods and stands, walking back to the house with your hand in his. As soon as you reach Pearson’s fire, a tearful Mary-Beth approaches.  


“Mr. Morgan,” she says.  


“Ms. Gillis.”  


“Kieran. They... Promise me you’ll make them pay, Arthur.”  


You see something change in her eyes. The gentleness has vanished and been replaced with pain.  


“I promise, miss, I will do everything in my power to make them answer for all the things they done to us.”  


“Good. Kieran was such a gentle soul. Who would want to hurt him?”  


Before either you or Arthur can respond, she walks away towards the mansion. You hand Arthur a plate of stew, to which he takes somberly. You both sit on the log around the campfire, although neither of you have much appetite.  


Others join you, including Bill, Charles and Grimshaw. No one talks and there is no music. Bill drinks heavily from a bottle.  


“Well,” he says, taking a long draw, “here’s to you, Kieran.” He tips the bottle and spills some of the liquor onto the ground beside him.


	19. Putting the past behind

Warnings: swearing, smut  
Word count: ~10,200

The next morning, camp is still sedated. The loudest sounds come from the river as egrets nest and the alligators hunt. You suggest to Arthur over your morning coffee to go into Saint Denis.  


“Why?” he asks. “Thought you hated that place.”  


“I do, but I feel like we need to go somewhere with life in it. Just for a bit.”  


He nods and puts his tin cup into his satchel.  


“We can do that. I have something to do in town anyways.”  


“What’s that?”  


He sighs and rubs his neck. “Few days ago, I bumped into some French artist. Helped him get out of a spot of trouble so he invited me to the gallery displaying his art. You wanna come?”  


“I never been to an art show,” you say optimistically.  


“Me neither if I’m being honest. But, I should warn you, this feller’s a bit of a… well, I ain’t too sure, but you might want to keep your distance from him.”  


“Why?”  


He sighs awkwardly. “He’s, well, he’s got a real strange way with people. Just stay by me and you’ll be fine.”  


“Okay,” you say curiously.  


Arthur grabs your hand and leads you over to the horses where you mount up. He bids Lenny a quiet farewell as you both pass him, heading out of Shady Belle. Once you’re through the trees, your mood lightens considerably, although the hot and humid air still cloaks you.  


You walk Rannoch side by side with Artemis into Saint Denis. You’re just passing a fenced pond where you see a man on the boat dock, acting thoroughly agitated. You see a strange box with coiled wires sticking out of it sitting on a table on the dock.  


“What is that?” you ask, nodding your head towards the man.  


“Let’s go find out.”  


Arthur stops Artemis and the two of you walk into the park, casually strolling up to the man who continues to rant, tearing up a piece of paper.  


“You okay, buddy?” Arthur calls to him. The man jumps and looks back at the two of you.  


“Fantastic! You Americans,” he gestures to you both, speaking with a thick accent you can’t place, “are nothing but shysters and traitors and slippery tongued ball suckers!”  


Arthur grabs his gun belt and huffs a small laugh. “I’m inclined to agree with ya.”  


The man waves a hand at him angrily then turns to a box set on the pier. Arthur stands beside him as he opens the box and pulls out a small boat.  


“Back to work with a bloody smile,” the man mutters to himself. “No problem, Marco. You are a great genius so we shove the hot poker up the ass! Say thank you, Marco!”  


“What are you talking about?” you ask as you try not to laugh at his continued ramblings.  


“Nothing! Just how much I love this goddamn country of yours!”  


“What are you, some kinda toy maker?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the boat.  


“No, I am a fucking genius with a poker up the ass.” He hands Arthur the boat and takes two rods, inserting them into the top of the boat. “Toy maker. Hello? Do I look like I should entertain children?” He glares at Arthur.  


“No,” Arthur replies heavily.  


You’ve no idea how Arthur doesn’t laugh, you have to cover your mouth. You hide your snicker by pretending to cough.  


“No, he says,” the man ignores you and takes his boat back. “I am the savior of mankind, buddy. Professor Marco Dragic. The one the silver tongue American betray and not pay the total money to. He total shit, man!” He places the boat into the water beside the dock.  


“So what’s this toy about?” Arthur asks as you compose yourself. He begins reaching for the elevated box you had seen earlier with the coil rods sticking out.  


“It is not a toy, big nuts!” Marco says, gesturing for him to stop. “It is a demonstration of my genius, about my ideas of the source of life.”  


Arthur approaches the toy boat, leaning down. “Ah, it’s a toy boat!” he says enthusiastically.  


“Yes it is a toy boat that I can power remotely!” Marco sneers, fidgeting with the box. You smile and approach the other side of the dock, looking over the water. You spot several floating devices in the water and tiny colored sailboats.  


“I’m using electricity and waves you cannot see!” Marco continues, cranking a lever on the side of the box.  


Arthur stands up, shaking his head. “Waves I cannot see,” he mutters skeptically.  


You suddenly look at Marco curiously. Could he power the boat with nothing attached to it? The idea is certainly entertaining, though doubtful.  


“Still the investors will not come,” Marco says, acting as though he hadn’t heard Arthur. “Just a couple of old ladies and a moron.”  


He adjusts a few more things on the box, flips a couple of switches. You hear the sound of people behind you approaching. All three of you turn and find a man accompanied by two women, one slightly older than the other.  


“Ladies! Gentleman!” Marco says energetically. He rushes forward and kisses one of the women’s hands. “Enchante. How is the piles?” The three people look to each other, clearly pondering if they should be offended. Before any of them have a chance to react, he continues. “Yes, yes good. My friends, you are about to witness history. A demonstration of my infinite insight.”  


He pushes Arthur out of the way, who had been inspecting the box. Arthur stands next to you, clasping his hands in front of him. You smile at him, grabbing his arm, curious to see if the man’s experiment will actually work.  


“All of us, we feel old,” Marco begins to the visitors. “You, you are old!” he points to the older of the two women, who huffs. “But maybe I can make you immortal!”  


He chuckles and then moves over to the boat, clearly pleased with himself. “Using waves you cannot see, I will power this boat-”  


“You’re a goddamn fraud,” a man interrupts. Your entire group turns to see him standing a few yards away, smoking a cigar. He sneers at Marco. “And this buffoon dressed up like a buffoon,” he motions to Arthur, who looks down at his clothes questioningly, “is his stoolie. I watched them conspire, you morons.”  


You glare at the man and then back to Arthur. You lean over and tell him you think he looks handsome in his green shotgun coat, red vest and black shirt, his collar popped up. He pats your hand on his arm.  


“I never met this buffoon before two minutes ago!” Marco says incredulously. He stands beside Arthur and gestures to him. “Isn’t that right?”  


“Which part of it?” he asks, clearly still offended.  


“Professor,” the man with the women says. “Show us your magical toy boat, but let the buffoon try it out.”  


“No, this ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” Arthur says.  


“Go on, Arthur,” you encourage, patting his hand. “I bet it ain’t that hard.”  


He turns to say something to you when Marco reaches for him. “Come, please.” He takes Arthur’s arm, dragging him away from you and situates him in front of the box. He motions to two handles, explaining how they work in order to control the boat.  


“Any moron can do this,” Marco says, gesturing to the women and looking back at Arthur, “and I am about to prove that.”  


Arthur gives you an annoyed glance before grabbing the handles. He twitches them and the boat stirs in the water. He moves them again hesitantly and the boat glides forward.  


“Ha ha! Excellent! Now keep going,” Marco says.  


Arthur steers the boat through the water. Marco advises him to stay away from the floating blobs, which seem to be attracted to the boat. He explains they have magnets built into them and will explode upon contact. Arthur carefully guides the boat through the water, chasing the colored sailboats as per Marco’s instructions.  


“I have loaded the boat with torpedos. Blow up the sailboats!”  


Arthur does so. You watch the waves of water as the torpedos launch from the boat and strike the sailboats, amazed. After a few moments, he destroys the last one and brings the boat back to the doc.  


“This is really remarkable,” the man says appreciatively.  


“Like I say, any fool, huh?” Marco laughs.  


“What is that?” Arthur asks, a big grin on his face. You smile over at him as well, moving closer.  


“LIke I say, it is the stuff of life!”  


“It’s incredible.”  


“No, no. Incredible is in my lab. So, can I count on your support?” Marco asks the man.  


“Well, I don’t know. This is expensive.  


“It is immortality! Maybe perhaps we discuss over lunch?”  


As Marco and the man talk, Arthur reaches up and touches one of the balls atop a coiled wire. You hear a jolt and he hisses, waving his hand.  


“You okay?” you say, hiding your giggle.  


“Ah yeah,” he takes your hand, tapping Marco with the other. “Alright, we’re going.”  


“Ah of course,” Marco says to him happily. “Listen, if you are ever up near Doverhill, pay me a visit, huh?”  


Marco returns to his watchers and babbles on. You laugh softly as Arthur offers you his arm and walks you back to your horses. You mount up and continue on deeper into the city.  


He leads you down to the main street of Saint Denis. A man plays a trumpet beneath the tall bronze statue of a man. You’re glad Rannoch has become so used to following Artemis’s large form, you’re busy looking around at all the buildings, the architecture, the people. Men and women of all races and classes walk on the sidewalks and the streets. You thought Blackwater was a large and bouncing city, but it is nothing compared to Saint Denis.  


Arthur leads you slowly up to the main street. Halfway up, he turns left and heads down a broad and nearly empty street aside from a trolley car making its slow way up. On the left, you see a building with a circular corner, the dome rising high, the words “Theatre Raleur” lit in golden lights under a fancy logo. Farther up on the opposite side of the street is a large park, a fountain playing near the west side, flowering bushes along the curving walkway.  


“Come on,” Arthur says, hitching Artemis.  


“What are we doing?” you ask, doing the same to Rannoch.  


“Supposedly this is the nicest park in Saint Denis. Figure if you want to see the city, ya ought to see this.”  


You smile, not believing him but humoring him all the same. He proudly offers his arm to you as he walks you into the park. You both pass the fountain, where a man in a white suit offers pamphlets about Chelonianism. Arthur points to a large house across the street on the west side.  


“That’s Bronte’s house.”  


“Quite… mundane,” you say, gazing at the large mansion. Arthur chuckles, patting your hand on his arm.  


“Y/N?” a soft, tinkling voice rings behind you. You turn, looking for the owner.  


A woman about the same age as you walks up. You immediately recognize the bold red hair, fair skin and blue eyes of your cousin Emma. It’s been nearly ten years since you’ve last seen her; she’s grown more beautiful since then. She wears a large, pale green dress completely covering her arms and neck, a large hat covering her head. She clasps her hands in front of her, her gold wedding ring glints in the sun.  


“Oh my Lord, it is you!” she cries out happily.  


Before you have time to react, she grabs your calloused, dirty hands with her soft, clean ones, her nails polished and finely shaped.  


“Oh my, Y/N,” she says, her smile flickering slightly. “I heard about your parents and your husband. Such a tragedy!”  


“E-Emma?” you stammer.  


Arthur looks between the two of you curiously. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in front of him, knowing you look hideous in comparison to her. Your hair’s unkempt and in need of a wash and a trim, your face sunburnt and dirty. You’re more muscular than Emma is and you’re taller than her as well. You feel like a troll standing next to an elf.  


“That’s right, Y/N,” she grins. “Oh, I must say I have worried about you so since I left Blackwater. I hated that town so much, I wished you had come with me here. I sometimes think about how you could have been so much happier. A girl like you could have made out like a criminal in this city!”  


Arthur suddenly clears his throat beside you. Emma looks at him as though she’s just noticed him.  


“I beg your pardon, sir,” her eyes rake over his form. You can’t tell if she’s impressed or not. “Forgive me, I am Emma Caulson. Perhaps Y/N has mentioned me to you?”  


She holds out her hand, as though expecting him to take it and kiss it. His eyes narrow slightly. “Oh I’ve heard of you, alright.”  


Emma lowers her hand when she realizes he isn’t going to take it, her smile suddenly shaky. She turns back to you.  


“So, Y/N,” she says, biting her lips. “When I heard word of your family’s deaths, I was told you were wanted for questioning. May I ask why?”  


You swallow, hesitating. “I don’t know. I was away in Armadillo working my job as a seamstress when my husband was killed. By the time I returned home, I heard my parents were dead.”  


“And you have no idea who did it?” she asked, clearly not believing your story.  


“No. I couldn’t tell you.”  


“I see. I heard your father sold you to your husband. I was sorry when I heard that. He got the idea from my own engagement, I’m sure. However,” she takes a step towards you, straightening to her full height, which is still shorter than you. “It doesn’t justify what I’m thinking you did. Your parents were good people, Y/N.”  


You’re just about to say something when Arthur takes a step towards her. You barely reach his chin; he towers over Emma. It doesn’t help that he’s so broad. The sight is intimidating.  


“Ya better watch your mouth, girl,” he says calmly.  


Emma looks to him, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon, sir. This conversation doesn’t concern you.”  


“It concerns me because you’re threatening my girl, miss, and I won’t tolerate it. Now, she may be guilty of certain crimes, but they ain’t nothing compared to what I done. You open your mouth about her to anyone, I’ll come back to get ya.”  


Emma’s eyes are as large as saucers and she takes a step back. Arthur continues to glare at her, his eyes unblinking.  


“Forgive me, sir,” she says, her voice shaking. “I… I didn’t mean anything by it.”  


“No, course you didn’t,” Arthur growls. “You only did your best to humiliate her ten years ago. Only now, she’s got me. I’m also gonna tell you this. If she killed her family, what makes you think she’s above killin’ you?”  


You smile as she looks over to you, her face pale.  


“That’s right, Emma. I killed those awful people. Don’t make me add you to my list, otherwise I will find you. It can’t be hard to track down a fat coal miner in Saint Denis and his pretty little wife.”  


“Y/N,” she says, swallowing. “Forgive me. I… I wish you both a good and long life.”  


She walks away quickly, pushing her way quickly through the small crowds of people in the park as though hoping to disappear.  


“Well, well, well,” Arthur chuckles beside you. “Ya finally settled things with that awful cousin o’ yers, darlin’!” He turns to you, his face split in a large grin.  


You smile back but then it fades. “You don’t think it was a bad idea telling her I killed my family, do you?”  


“Nah,” Arthur shakes his head. “She looks like the cowardly type. Think the message sunk in. You’ll be fine.”  


You sigh in relief. Arthur knows better than anybody about scaring people into silence. He looks over your head across the street.  


“Come on, let’s go,” he says, taking your hand in his and leading you down the street. Just as you’re about to mount up, he puts his hand on your shoulder.  


“Hey, you ever been to the theater before?”  


“Huh?”  


He points up the street and your eyes follow his finger, falling upon the Theatre Raleur. You see a few people filing inside before shrugging your shoulders.  


“No, I honestly haven’t.”  


“Ah, well then let me treat ya!”  


“Mr. Morgan,” you giggle, taking his arm as he leads you down the street towards the theatre. “You’re turning into quite the sophisticated gentlemen.”  


“Please,” he chuckles. “I’m wilder than ever. I ain’t been to one of these in years.”  


You squeeze his arm affectionately as he opens the door for you. Inside, you stop, admiring the tall, circular room. You gaze at the white, stone walls, their carved faces painted in gold leaf, the huge crystal chandelier hanging above you. Your boots thump gently across marble floors. Glancing down the hallway leading to the stage, you notice the dark red walls and gold carpets, more chandeliers hanging above.  


“I swear, this city…” you say as Arthur pays for two tickets.  


“What?” he says, offering his arm again.  


“The architecture is beautiful, but it just seems like it’s for the people here to pretend they live in the lap of luxury, and yet the streets still smell like shit.”  


Arthur laughs loudly as he pushes the double doors open. You notice the large stage, hidden by the velvet curtains. Arthur gestures for you to find some seats, which you do on the left side three rows from the stage. Just as Arthur sits, allowing you to take the end seat, the curtains open.  


You listen to the man who introduces himself as Aldridge T. Abbington to the crowd. He gives a drawn out speech about the first act, which turns out to be a fire-breathing woman.  


“Catch on fire!” Arthur hollers as she begins to dance with a long stick, both ends aflame. You laugh as the crowd intermix cheers and boos. She takes a mouthful of liquid and spits it into the stream of fire twice, pulling oohs and aahs from the crowd. She does so a third time, but twitches badly and catches a man’s hat on fire in the first row.  


“Oh my God!” you yell out as Arthur laughs. The man stomps his hat out and abruptly leaves, cursing madly, as the fire breather panics and runs off the stage.  


Arthur sighs and drapes his arm behind you, letting you squeeze closer to him as Aldridge comes out, trying to make a bad joke about the incident. He introduces a woman whose talent is to sing. She steps out, followed by a small group of musicians who pick up a tune. She begins singing a rather boring song about how wonderful the town of Saint Denis is.  


“Sing Otis Miller!” Arthur yells out. You laugh, knowing how much he loves that song. You rest your head on his shoulder, placing a hand on his thigh.  


The woman finishes her song as the crowd applauds and the curtain closes. Aldridge comes out again and introduces a magician he met on the streets of Italy. He dashes out of sight as the curtain opens, revealing a noose tied to a single gallows and a man, standing next to a young woman.  


For the next five minutes, the man laughs and tells about his trick. You’re growing weary of his speech.  


“Is this guy gonna do a magic trick or is he just going to talk us all to death?” you whisper to Arthur.  


He smiles and calls out loud. “Let’s see him die!”  


“Arthur!” you squeal quietly, giggling into his shirt.  


The magician gratefully falls silent, allowing his assistant to wrap him up in a straight jacket. He walks up to the gallows and turns, continuing to speak.  
“Good Lord,” you say.  


“Let me tie the noose!” Arthur cries out.  


You giggle and the man stands on the short stool beneath the noose, his assistant tightens the rope around his neck. A few tense moments pass as he attempts to escape, but to no avail. The small stool he stands on suddenly tips, causing him to dangle by his neck. His assistant screams and tries to grab him by the waist and lift him up as he gags.  


“Somebody do something!” she screams out as the crowd begins to mutter, a few women panic. Arthur pulls himself from your grip and stands up, pulling out his pistol. He shoots the rope holding the man up and sits back down.  


The magician, having slammed into the ground, huffs angrily. “You absolute pillock! You ruined everything! Sod off, all of you!”  


“You’re welcome!” Arthur responds loudly.  


The curtains close as the magician continues yelling insults to the crowd. Aldridge comes out, looking flabbergasted.  


“What true marksmanship!” he calls out, trying to make the accident look as though it were planned. He says his final speech and bids the audience good night.  


“Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur says, patting your leg. “Need to get to the art show.”  


You stand up and leave the theatre, looking happily over at the man beside you.  


“What?” he asks as you walk down to the horses.  


“Nothing. It’s just… I’m happy, Arthur. I ain’t been this happy in a long time.”  


He chuckles and stops besides Artemis, pulling you into a tight hug. He kisses your head.  


“I’m happy too, darlin’.”  


He holds you for a second, his arms almost too tight around you. You giggle and pull yourself away from him.  


“Come on, cowboy. Like you said, we have another show to see.”  


“Alright, alright.”  


You hop up onto Rannoch and follow Artemis to the other side of Saint Denis. Arthur wanders down a narrow road where the buildings are formed close together. You see the front of the gallery, colored a light purple. Arthur hitches and hops off, bidding you to follow him.  


He leads you up a set of stone stairs and into a small room, a ticket master hidden behind a gold grate. Arthur approaches him and tells him he’s here to see a Charles Chatenay. The ticket master waves him in.  


You enter the gallery, spotting paintings and statues placed throughout the room. Arthur ignores them, heading into a blue room. You spot on the wall photos of horses running in the Heartlands, alligators in the swamps, wolves and then a photo of Arthur, standing in front of a line of pines.  


“What’s this?” you say, approaching it.  


“Huh, forgot he’d taken that.”  


“Who?”  


“You recall that Albert Mason feller? These are his. Wonder if he’s here.”  


Arthur leaves briefly to speak with the ticket master. He comes back a moment later.  


“He ain’t here.”  


“Ah, that’s too bad. I liked him.”  


“As did I. Now come on, let’s get this over with. Like I said before, stick close to me. This feller’s… different.”  


Arthur leads you through a wide arched doorway into a room with red walls and an ornate carpet. Over half a dozen paintings are displayed of various styles but all depict nude people, mostly women in sensual poses. Several other couples observe the paintings, making comments. Arthur approaches a small man smoking a cigarette by a painting of a naked woman standing by a window.  


“Look at these idiots,” the man says to Arthur in a heavy French accent. Arthur blocks you from the man with his body. You stick close to him, feeling extremely self conscious surrounded by these paintings. Many of the other women in the room look about the same as you feel. An older woman walks across the room to your little group looking extremely ruffled.  


“Excuse me, Mr. Chatenay,” she says in a raspy voice, “but couldn’t you have painted some drawers on her?” She points to a painting of a woman, her back and buttocks completely exposed.  


“Madame,” the man says, walking to the painting slowly, “I paint her in her natural state as she was and will be in paradise. Clothes are civilization, repression, death. To be naked is to be free, innocent, alive. Like Buddha said, we are all here to fuck.”  


The woman gasps. The other couples have begun to gather around him.  


“The artist?” you ask Arthur. He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist. He’s begun acting very possessive of you for some reason.  


“Hey!” a man says near another painting. “You got a picture of my wife here in her delicates!”  


“Henry!” a woman says to a man near another piece. “Is that your behind? Why would you be showing that man your behind?”  


“That’s my mama!” another man says, approaching one of the more lude pieces. “As nude as the day she was born!”  


“Stop looking at my husband’s buttocks!”  


“Stop looking at my mama!”  


Arthur gives a soft laugh as the mood in the room escalates.  


“This is disgusting!” one man points a finger at the man defending his mother.  


“That’s it!”  


A fight breaks out between several men, their wives fleeing.  


“You filthy little man!” the woman who had first approached the artist yells, slapping him with her handbag. Arthur laughs loudly and helps him to his feet.  


“I’m comin’ after you, Frenchy!” a man hollers.  


“Shit!” Mr. Chatenay hisses, dashing out of the room. The man barrels after him, only to be stopped by Arthur.  


“Leave it, friend.”  


“He painted my mama, the bastard!”  


Arthur throws a punch, knocking the man out.  


“Excellent shot, cowboy,” the artist says from behind a pillar. That’s when you see he’s eyeing you.  


“Best get you out of here,” Arthur says to the man. He notices the artist staring at you hungrily. “Charles! Let’s get you out of here before I get a reason to hit you.”  


“Oh alright, fine! Follow me, cowboy!”  


He walks quickly out of the empty gallery, you and Arthur following. Once on the street, he begins talking about how he’s confused about his role as a painter, walking through an alleyway. “We artists provoke emotions, no?” he demands.  


“You keep provoking emotions,” Arthur says, “and all your canvases will have punch holes through ‘em.  


“I told you I was a whole ass!”  


“That you did,” Arthur says with little humor. “Now maybe go be an asshole somewhere else.”  


“I know a lady over here, I can stay with her a few days.”  


Charles Chatenay stops by a door. “That picture I gave you, it will be worth something someday, I can feel it!”  


“Perhaps, but right now the only thing it’d get me is a kick in the balls.”  


Arthur pulls you close, partially placing himself between you and Charles. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the artist.  


“Hey listen, cowboy,” he says, excitement flickering in his eyes. “An artist’s work is never done. Listen, if you wanted to… come inside and help with your lady friend? Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, eh?”  


Arthur straightens up and takes a step towards Charles. “Give me a reason and I’ll teach you a thing or two about pain. You look towards my girl again, I’ll kill ya.”  


“Ah ha ha! You Americans!” Charles says, completely unphased. He raises his arms up in delight. “Always looking for a fight! That’s what I love about you! You are funny!”  


He turns around and knocks on the door. “Mon ami! It’s me!” The door opens and he gives a delighted chuckle before dashing inside, snapping the door shut.  


“Well, Arthur,” you say, relaxing. “If that’s how all art galleries are, I hope that’s my last one.”  


He sighs heavily and turns back to you, gesturing towards a break in the stone wall blocking the alleyway from the street.  


“I don’t think they are, darlin’, just his. Pretty sure he was doin’ more with his subjects than just paintin’ ‘em.”  


“You think?” You step out onto the street, facing the city’s gallows, which are empty for the moment. Arthur follows and whistles for the horses.  


“I hope that’s the last time I see that man,” you say, your hand nervously coming up to clutch your elbow. You still feel thoroughly uncomfortable by it all.  


“I’m shoar it will be, darlin’,” he says, seeming to sense your unease as he stands closer to you. “Besides, even if he sees you again, I doubt he’ll do nothin’. He knows you’re my girl.”  


“Or he’ll take it as an extra challenge, Arthur!”  


“Nah, he owes me. I only saved his hide twice now.”  


The horses come trotting up the street and stop close to you, both snorting in greeting. You pat Rannoch’s neck affectionately after mounting up.  


“Should we head back to camp?” you suggest.  


Arthur hops up onto Artemis. “In a bit, need to make one more errand. Think there’s a fence near the trapper and I got some things to sell.”  


Arthur leads you to the east side of the city, which is a drastic change from the other side with its big houses and fancy gardens. The buildings and houses here are older, smaller, and dirtier. The roads are no longer cobbled but dirt. Round pigs and skinny, cowering dogs roam the streets, searching for anything to eat. The people here are just as roughed up and downtrodden as their homes, their clothes dirty and torn, their eyes slightly sunken from too much work and not enough food.  


You follow Arthur down onto an extremely narrow street. It doesn’t help that the trolley moves along it, almost completely filling the street. You pass by a sad looking bar and then Arthur stops. He’s about to walk through a stone archway into a small marketplace when a monk asking for spare money for the poor stops him.  


“You, kind sir, will you help the poor?” he gestures to Arthur.  


“I ain’t so kind,” he responds, stopping.  


“Yes, you are sir. You have it in you, I can tell.”  


“I’m a nasty bit of work, father.”  


“Ah, you’re wrong on two counts, my friend,” the monk says with a kind smile. “I’m a humble brother, a penitent monk, not a priest. And you are a magnificent bit of work.”  


You walk up and stand close to Arthur, unconsciously wrapping your hands around his arm. The monk spots it.  


“Ah, you see? Even the young lady sees it. I can tell by her eyes she finds you to be a glorious man. Now you may have made some poor choices, but which of us hasn’t?”  


Arthur chuckles and looks at you fondly. He leads you over to the wall next to the monk, still laughing. “Oh, you have no idea, brother.”  


“But you do and God does; that’s enough for me. But perhaps if you’re not so sure, why don’t you offer two bits to the poor?”  


He gestures to a collecting tin near his feet. Arthur ponders for a moment.  


“Shoar. Least I can do.” Arthur takes out a few coins and plops them into the tin. You do the same.  


The monk looks at you both proudly. “Bless you both.”  


“How you gettin’ on anyhow?” Arthur asks, folding his arms over his chest.  


“Ah, these are a somewhat apathetic lot I’m afraid.”  


“Hm. My mentor says that America is designed to induce apathy in people.”  


You know he’s talking about Dutch, who has spouted these types of philosophies over and over again.  


“He must be a wise man, your mentor.”  


Arthur huffs a small laugh. “Well, sometimes he’s a downright fool, but most times he’s the best man I know.”  


“That’s wonderful. Well, poverty will always be with us, but slavery…” the monk peaks over the stone wall into the marketplace. “I thought we had abolished that. Unfortunately, Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves out to the islands.”  


“Nah, I don’t believe that; it's 1899,” Arthur says.  


“Perhaps you should take a look for yourself. I’ve heard the pawnbroker sells more than forlorn trinkets.”  


Arthur steps away to look through to the marketplace. “Alright, ‘scuse me, brother. Y/N, stay here a minute will ya?”  


Arthur heads down the marketplace, leaving you alone with the monk.  


“Your companion is a fine man, miss,” the monk says, returning to his collecting tin.  


“He is. He doesn’t like to believe it. I swear though, every time we’re in a city or a town, he’s helping someone.”  


“Like I said, a magnificent work. As are you, if you don’t mind me saying.”  


You look at him with a small smile. “Ah no. I done some… some real bad things myself, brother.”  


“And like I told him, we all have. Who is not without sin?”  


“You ain’t sayin’ that just because you’re hoping I’ll give more money to the poor, are you?” you ask skeptically.  


“Oh no, my sister,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “I took an oath never to lie, not even for the benefit of others. I simply state what I see.”  


“Well, I guess that’s a slight comfort. Still, there’s no place for people like me in the eyes of God. I done real bad things when I could have… just walked away.”  


“We’ve all done things we wished we did differently, my friend. Each of us has something to be guilty of. But if we dwell only on the bad, we make no room to try and do good. And remember this: God cannot forgive you if you don’t forgive yourself.”  


“Ah, I stopped believing in God a long time ago, brother. Forgive me.”  


“That may be so, but he has never stopped believing in you.”  


You glance over at him and smile again. In your past, you’ve met a few priests and monks, but they all seemed to lack something he has: genuinity.  


Arthur steps out from the marketplace, closely followed by two thin and dirty Mexicans, shielding their eyes from the sun.  


“Brother...?” he says, holding his arm out.  


“Brother Dorkins, my friend.”  


“Arthur Morgan, and you were right: I found these two imprisoned in that shop.”  


The two men stand nervously beside the wall, looking around. Brother Dorkins smiles at Arthur.  


“They are blessed to have met you, Arthur.”  


Arthur narrows his eyes slightly. “Trust me in that they’re very unusual. I don’t think they speak English.”  


“My brothers,” the monk says as Arthur approaches you. “Come, let’s get you something to eat. Comida.”  


The men look at him in surprise as he gestures for them to walk ahead of him and down the street. Just as they begin to leave, Arthur picks up the collecting tin on the ground.  


“Hey, you forgot this!”  


“Oh, thank you, I…” Brother Dorkins turns to grab it, but hesitates. “Take it as payment for your services.”  


“Give it to the poor, brother,” Arthur says, handing it to him.  


“Thank you, I will. Like I said, magnificent.” As Brother Dorkins begins leading the men again, he calls back to ask Arthur to meet him again at an old church he often works at. Arthur waves two fingers at him.  


You and Arthur cross the street to mount your horses. You look up and see the sky has turned pink as the sun has begun to set.  


“You wanna head back to camp or stay here for the night?” you ask.  


“Up to you, darlin’. I know ya ain’t too fond of this city.”  


You shrug your shoulders. “Ah, let’s just stay here. I’d love to take a bath in some hot water for once.”  


Arthur nods and directs Artemis down the street, leading you back towards the main street of Saint Denis. Once there, he hitches his horse next to a large hotel. You hitch Rannoch and walk side by side with him inside. You’re greeted by a large room with multiple tables in front of a long bar, a group of men play poker at one of them. A chandelier dangles above, watching everyone in the room. Up a short stairwell on the landing leading to a longer stairwell sits a piano, a man playing happily on it.  


“Come on, let me treat ya to dinner,” Arthur says, gesturing to the bar. He gestures for you to find a table as he goes up and orders. He sits down across from you. “Guess they actually got waiters here,” he says.  


“Impressive,” you say sarcastically.  


“I know, this city really tries to make ya think life is great, don’t it?”  


“Maybe, but I still prefer the open country. Smells better.”  


He laughs as a waiter comes over and sets down two plates of prime rib on the table. A moment later, he returns with a bottle of wine.  


“Since when were you a wine drinker, Mr. Morgan?” you ask.  


“Ah, I ain’t, but I figured we might as well try and enjoy the luxuries this city offers.”  


“Oh yeah, along with corrupt politicians and Italian strongmen.”  


He laughs again softly as you both begin to eat. When you’re done, Arthur stands up and walks over to the bar again to pay for a room and a bath. He offers you his arm again as you both walk up the stairs, passing the piano and up the next two flights. On the second floor, you see a large and comfortable sitting area. A few men lounge about, accompanied by working girls smoking from long sticks.  


Arthur leads you to a hallway off the sitting room and gestures to a door on the left. A plaque on the door reads “Bath”. You open it and are surprised when Arthur follows you in.  


“What you doin’?” you ask.  


“Figure we might as well pay for only one bath,” he says, shutting the door and taking his hat and shotgun coat off. You shrug your shoulders and begin to undress. After a moment, you’re about to step into the tempting hot water when Arthur stops you. Your eyes rake his naked body.  


“Now come on, darlin’,” he jokes. “You’re makin’ me blush.”  


“Sorry,” you giggle. “Ain’t my fault you’re so handsome.”  


“Hey, I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.”  


“Who said I was lying?”  


He chuckles and shakes his head before stepping into the water. He leans back and gestures for you to come in. You do so, leaning your back against his firm chest.  


“This is nice,” you say as he folds his arms around you.  


“Shoar is.”  


You sit like this for a moment before Arthur releases you from his grip and pushes you forward so he can wash your back. Once he’s done, you both get down to scrubbing your hair and limbs. You feel as though you’ve lost the top layer of your skin and are surprised to find the water isn’t all that dirty, but the bubbles probably hide a lot of it.  


Once you’re both clean, you settle back against Arthur. He embraces you once more and sighs. You’re so comfortable and warm, you feel yourself beginning to drift off.  


“Hey, none of that now,” Arthur says with a small laugh, patting you. “We still got one more thing to do before the day’s out.”  


“What’s that?” you say, looking up at him.  


“Well, we’re in this nice hotel, we got a room to ourselves. With all the noise going on around us, we ain’t gotta worry about being quiet ourselves.”  


You blush a little and bite your lip, smiling.  


“Okay, you got me.”  


You pat his arm and stand up, grabbing a towel and drying off. You wonder if it’s really worth getting dressed when Arthur’s just going to undress you again, but then you realize it’s highly probable that people are still in the sitting room. You simply throw on your shirt and jeans, not worrying about your boots or even your undergarments. You stuff those under your arm and head out of the room just as Arthur’s pulling on his pants.  


You take the three steps across the hall and open the door to your room, marveling at it. The room is large and comfortable with dark walls adorned with paintings of scenery and elegant women. A fireplace sits at one end, emitting heat from the fire. A small couch sits across from the door, a finely woven Afghan covering the back. Between it and you is a large four-poster bed, covered in red fabrics and a mountain of pillows.  


“You’re blockin’ the doorway, darlin’,” Arthur says.  


“Sorry,” you say before moving out of the way. You see he’s done the same as you and dawned only his pants and shirt, the rest of his clothes tucked under his arm. He smiles at you as he tosses his clothes and shoes into the corner. You do the same. Your back is to him when you feel him wrap his arms around you. He kisses your temple and hums.  


“What say you we get our money’s worth for this room?” he purrs in your ear.  


“Arthur, you paid what, a dollar for this?”  


He chuckles. “Yeah, but that’s a dollar I coulda saved if we decided we just wanted to sleep.” 

His hands wander down your body until he finds the untucked hem of your shirt. He lifts it up and strips it off your body, quickly folding his arms around you once more. 

“Arthur, we can’t do this if you don’t let me go for at least a few seconds,” you say as he massages your breasts. He laughs again but finally releases you. You take the opportunity to remove your pants. As you straighten up, you see his shirt and jeans go flying past you and land on the pile of clothes. 

You’re just about to face him when you feel his hands on your shoulders. You stop as he runs his thumbs delicately across your skin. You feel his right hand gently trace the scar on your shoulder that your ex-husband had given you the night you murdered him. Suddenly, his lips trace the mark. A warmth blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with you being naked. 

Arthur folds his arms around you once more, his lips studying your neck. You sigh and tilt your head back, enjoying it. Without warning, he picks you up and carries you over to the bed, lying you down on your back. He hovers over you, a smile stretched across his face. You raise your hands to tangle into his chest hair, caressing the skin beneath. He kisses your lips, his tongue coming out to explore yours. Your hands travel up his shoulders and into his hair, pulling it slightly. His lips leave yours, wandering down to your jawline, your neck, your collarbone and then down to your breasts. He spends a moment focusing on your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your chest. 

His lips leave your chest and then trail down your stomach. His hands squeeze your hips before sliding down to the backs of your knees, lifting them up and spreading your legs. 

You groan as his right hand leaves your knee and spreads your folds, his finger gliding over your wet and sensitive nub. 

“Aw, Arthur!” you moan, your fingers scrape his scalp. 

Without warning, he lifts himself up and hovers over you again. You stare at him pleadingly. He smiles mischievously before his lips crash to yours. You grind against his rough fingers, your breath leaving your lungs in fast bursts. 

You wish he would slide himself inside of you already, the waiting is almost unbearable. He continues to brush your center with his fingers. You suddenly realize he’s teasing you; he knows what you want him to do. 

You decide two can play this game. You place your hands on his chest and shove him, pushing him onto his back. You lift yourself up to straddle his hips, keeping your core away from his cock. He looks up at you, almost surprised. Before he can say anything, you lean down and begin kissing his neck. You make your way down to his collarbone, spying the scar on his shoulder from where the O’Driscolls shot him. You know he’s been self-conscious about it since it became a scar, and you’re determined to show him that it’s a part of him and therefore worth loving. You gently pepper it with kisses. His hand reaches up to tangle into your hair as he groans. 

Remembering how he teased you moments ago, you sit up again, straddling his thighs. Your eyes wander down his body, drinking in his every detail until you find his erection. Your hands slide down his chest, his sides until they stop at his hips. Your eyes find his as you reach down and stroke him, tenderly at first and then you begin to apply more pressure. 

His head tilts back against the pillow, his eyes closing as you study his cock with your hands. His hands plant against your knees and his hips begin to buck, though you keep your folds away from his hips. You take your thumb and run it across the slit at the end of his tip. He grunts loudly as he throbs in your hands, his hips thrusting again. You circle his head multiple times, alternating in speed until his hips are snapping up and down in a slightly unsteady rhythm, his length throbbing. 

“Oh God, darlin’,” he begs. “Quit torturin’ me.” 

“You started it, cowboy,” you tease with a small snicker. His eyes open as you circle his head again. His face begs for you. You smile and lift your hips up, not releasing his length. 

You angle yourself above him and guide him into you until you sit on his hips. He groans again as he reaches deep into you. You sigh pleasurably and begin bouncing up and down, building friction between you. Within seconds, you feel him erupt inside you. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” he groans, his hands stroking your hips. “Ya got me worked up.” 

“That’s okay, Arthur,” you sigh. 

You feel him slide himself out of you, causing you to twitch slightly. “Let me return the favor at least,” he says. He guides you down onto your back and begins kissing you, worshipping your body, as he positions himself so he can reach between your folds. You feel his warm, thick fingers press into your clit. He pushes against your body hard several times until two fingers slide into your center. You close your eyes with a happy sigh as he pushes them in and out of you. His thumb circles your nub tenderly as he begins kissing your neck. 

After a few moments, you feel his fingers slide out of you, although his thumb remains pressed against your core. Within seconds, his hardened length presses into your center once more, stretching your walls. He begins pounding himself into you. After only a moment or two, that familiar warmth blooms in your chest and travels down to your stomach. You spread your knees farther apart, angling your hips to reach his better. He pounds again into you and kisses just below your ear. Without warning, your head tilts back and a yell escapes from your lips. He chuckles softly and pumps into you a few more times, growing more frantic. His length throbs inside your walls before he erupts a second time inside of you. 

His body collapses onto you, nearly squeezing every bit of air from your lungs. You pat his back, letting him know your discomfort. He lifts himself up and rolls onto his back, grabbing you and dragging you onto him. 

“Mm,” you sigh, snuggling into his chest. “That was amazing, Arthur.” 

“I’ll never say no to doin’ that,” he says, his fingers trailing up your spine. 

The next morning, Arthur treats you to breakfast before stating that you both should go back to camp. You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to go back. The truth is that ever since Kieran’s death and the O’Driscoll ambush, you ‘ve been nervous about Shady Belle. It was a risky hide out before, due to the fact that it acted as the safe house to the Lemoyne Raiders. Now it’s hard to say if you’ll be ambushed there again. You bring it up to Arthur over your meal of eggs and ham.  


“Ah, I wouldn’t be too worried, darlin’,” he says. “Think they were surprised by how well we defended the place. The few we didn’t kill ran off pretty quick.”  


“Exactly, Arthur. They probably ran off to tell Colm. He’ll be better prepared next time.”  


“Well, I mentioned to Dutch that we probably need to find a new place and quick after that whole mess. Course, he don’t seem too concerned. Just said we need to find another big take. Think he’s hesitant to leave the city, might have somethin’ here.”  


You just shake your head and finish your meal. If Dutch has a fault, it’s that he doesn’t take threats seriously. When the Pinkertons first found you and Arthur out fishing with Jack, he hadn’t been too worried then. The O’Driscolls had butchered Kieran and sent him headless into camp and still Dutch didn’t find it worrisome.  


“Well, I hope a score comes soon. I don’t like it down here,” you say.  


“Nor do I. I just hope we can make it out west like we planned before that whole mess with Blackwater.”  


You both leave the hotel and make your way through the city. Arthur decides he wants to stop at the post office in case any mail has come in. Once there, he finds a letter addressed to him from the mayor of Saint Denis.  


“You met the mayor for all of five minutes, what does he want with you?” you ask as he tears the envelope open. Arthur quickly reads the letter and then hands it to you.  


“Shit, how did he figure out you stole those papers?”  


“Don’t know. Guess I wasn’t being as careful as I thought,” he says, taking the letter back. “Well, guess we’ll have to come to the city more often while we’re down here.”  


“You want me to come?” you ask.  


“No. No, darlin’. I ain’t too sure what he’s plannin’, but if it’s bad I don’t want you involved.”  


“Arthur, I don’t think you should go by yourself. Like you said, you don’t know what he’s planning.”  


“Darlin’, he ain’t gonna have me killed. He’s the mayor, not a murderer.”  


“Yeah, and as mayor of this big town, he’s gotta have a lot of people in his pocket, don’t you think?”  


Arthur just shakes his head and puts the letter in his satchel. “I’m fairly sure he ain’t gonna do nothin’. Maybe just some of the usual scare tactics or call in a favor. Like I said, it shouldn’t be too much of a worry.”  


“Well, fine. I just don’t want you to get yourself into trouble again.”  


You both mount up and start heading out of the city. Just as you’re passing the police station, you see a vaguely familiar man pounding on the door of the building across the street.  


“Hey, where have we seen him from?” you say, nodding to the man. Arthur’s eyes follow yours and he squints. Two taller, dark men stand close behind him.  


“Think we saw him at that godawful party,” Arthur says.  


“You sure?”  


“Yeah. Wait, I know who he is.”  


Without another word, Arthur dismounts and approaches the small group of men.  


“Come on, we have an appointment!” the man yells as he pounds on the door again.  


“Hey, don’t I know you?” Arthur calls to him.  


The man turns and you instantly recognize him, mainly due to his beard.  


“Evelyn Miller?” you say.  


“Why, I do believe we’ve met. At that ghastly party,” Evelyn says.  


“That’s right, I thought I recognized you,” Arthur says. The two shake hands and Arthur introduces himself and you. Evelyn kindly shakes your hand, his grasp surprisingly gentle.  


“Forgive me, Mr. Morgan, but can I say something rude? The mayor thinks you robbed him.”  


“Does he?” Arthur responds, saying nothing about the letter.  


“To be clear, he didn’t seem very upset about it. He rather liked you.” Evelyn pauses, looking to his companions nervously. “Do you, I mean, can you steal things, sir?”  


Arthur glances at you, his face irritated. “Is there a reason you’re asking me to incriminate myself, Mr. Miller?”  


Clearly wanting to ease the situation, Evelyn lifts a hand to his companions. “Have you met?”  


You take a good look at the men accompanying Evelyn. You can tell by their facial structures and their skin they are Native Americans, one quite a bit older than the other. The elder has an inquisitive face, his quiet eyes seem to hold a gentleness you’ve rarely seen. The younger holds his jaw tightly, his brow heavy.  


“This is Rains Fall,” Evelyn says, “a great chief and his son Eagle Flies.”  


“We saw you on the wagon train,” the man named Rains Fall says in a deep and gravelly voice. “Crossing the river at Cumberland Falls and at the party, you and your wife were upstairs.”  


“You have great powers of observation,” Arthur says. “Except she ain’t my wife. We’re together, but not like that.”  


“Ah, my mistake,” Rains Fall says gently. He looks at you and you smile softly at him. You wouldn’t have minded at all if Arthur had left the bit out that you weren’t married, but you have to remind yourself that he surely has no interest in that.  


“My people,” Rains Fall continues, a note of sadness in his voice, “if we are even a people, we fought hard. We made peace treaties and those treaties were broken. We have been punished and moved, and moved and punished.” He looks at his son sadly. “And now I am told we are to be moved again.”  


“Clearly going against the peace treaty signed three years ago,” Evelyn says.  


Eagle Flies takes a step forward. “This will lead to war.”  


Rains Fall puts a hand on his shoulder. “No, my son. We cannot fight another war. They have got stronger and we have become weaker.”  


“It’s a bad business,” Arthur says.  


“It’s to do with oil,” Evelyn says. He explains how a few months back, a group of prospectors visited the reservation occupied by Rains Fall and his people and they made reports, stating the high probability of oil in the earth. He also mentions these reports were given to Leviticus Cornwall.  


Arthur tilts his head and gives a knowing nod, a disbelieving smile on his face. “So you want me to go and steal it.”  


“Well, obviously they can’t,” Evelyn says, gesturing to the two men. “And I would be useless.”  


Arthur begins to shake his head, scratching his neck.  


“Listen, I realize this is a ludicrous request,” Evelyn goes on, “but we’re very desperate.”  


“I’m not a do-gooder, Mr. Miller. Gentlemen, I’m very sorry for your predicament, but I got problems of my own.”  


Arthur takes your hand and begins walking away. You’re just about to say something to him, to try and convince him to help them, when Rains Fall calls to him.  


“We will pay you very handsomely, Mr. Morgan.”  


He stops and looks back. “How much?”  


“I told you, they’re all mercenaries,” Eagle Flies says with a raised lip.  


Arthur chuckles and looks at him hard. “I got a price on my head in two states, my friend. The government doesn’t like me anymore than it likes you. Like you, I been runnin’ as long as I can remember and like you, my time is nigh on done.”  


“We understand and we will pay,” Rains Fall says. He tells Arthur where to meet Eagle Flies in the Heartlands. Arthur thanks them and is about to walk away.  


“I will meet you there, too,” you say, stepping forward to the men. You don’t know if you’re overstepping your bounds, but you don’t care. “I will help, and I don’t want your money in return.”  


“Y/N,” Arthur says from behind you.  


“Leave it, Arthur. I’m just as wanted as you are, but these men… they need our help.”  


“We can’t help everyone, darlin’.”  


“No and I’m not asking you to try.” You turn back to Rains Fall and promise him that you will be there to help. You glance quickly at Eagle Flies, who stares hard at you almost as though he suspects you.  


“We are very grateful for your help,” Rains Fall says.  


“Well, gentlemen,” Evelyn says to them. “That appointment with the senator. I apologize, we must leave. Thank you, both of you, for your help.”  


You step away and rejoin Arthur. As you mount up, he catches your attention.  


“What was that, Y/N?” he says.  


“What?”  


“I didn’t want ya helpin’ me with this, darlin’. And then you go shootin’ that off to ‘em.”  


“Why don’t you want me coming?”  


“It’ll likely end with us gettin’ shot at, that’s why,” Arthur explains, urging Artemis into a steady walk. “We’re gonna be sneakin’ into Leviticus Cornwall’s oil factory. That man’s already gunnin’ for us, and now we’re about to rob directly from under his nose.”  


“Arthur, I’ve been runnin’ with you for months now. I’ve been in my fair share of gunfights. Besides, if you’re really worried, I can stay back and help Eagle Flies.”  


“Well, that’s fine. But what’s with the not wantin’ to be paid, darlin’?” You can tell he’s getting irritated. “You know all the things we got goin’ on.”  


“I know, a lot of pots boiling. When don’t we? But Arthur, what does it hurt to help someone who has been given as raw a deal as they have? Our country was built by spilling their blood. The least we can do is try and fix some of that.”  


“We can’t change the past. You know that better than anyone.”  


“I do, and that’s why I want to try. Please, Arthur.”  


He sighs and shakes his head. “A’right, fine. Can’t stop ya anyways, you already promised them you’d be there.”  


You both walk down the street and towards the edge of the city in a slightly awkward silence.  


“Well, maybe let me lift your spirits?” you say.  


“What?” He doesn’t look back at you. He drives with one arm, his other hanging leisurely.  


“You remember a few days ago you wanted to go up to that lake near Colter? Why don’t we do that? We can leave today or tomorrow and meet Eagle Flies on our way back.”  


He doesn’t say anything for a moment. You wonder if maybe he’s going to come up with an excuse to get away from you for a while, clearly irritated with you.  


“Yeah, a’right,” he says. “Let’s get back to camp first, make sure Dutch ain’t got no fresh leads on jobs.”  


The two of you speed up to a canter and travel quickly through the swamps until you reach Shady Belle. Arthur heads up to the balcony where Dutch stands. You watch him until Grimshaw leaps on you, squawking angrily.  


“You been gone two days havin’ a grand ol’ time while we been here slavin’ away!” she shrieks, making to grab your ear. You dodge out of her grasp, covering your ears.  


“No you don’t girl!” she says, making to grab you again. You back up and immediately crash into a firm barrier. You look up and Arthur smiles down at you, gripping your forearms.  


“Sorry, Ms. Grimshaw. Afraid this girl’s mine for the next few days.”  


“Mr. Morgan! We ain’t carryin’ her for free. Just like with everyone else, she needs to earn her keep.”  


“Oh, don’t worry about that, m’lady, I’ll be puttin’ her to work. Actually goin’ up to do a job, something we found in Saint Denis.”  


“You folks aren’t going hunting, are you?” Pearson says, jogging over.  


“Yes, we were planning on it,” you say, giving a nervous glance at Grimshaw.  


“Oh, excellent. We could really use it. Make sure to bring back as much as your horses can carry.”  


Grimshaw huffs irritatingly and stalks away, muttering to herself. You sigh in relief.  


“Thanks, Arthur. Thought she was going to tear my head off.”  


“Ah, now I can’t let that happen, darlin’,” he grins down at you. “Now come on, let’s go. You still got our coats packed on the horses?”  


You nod and start walking to the horses. Arthur explains that Dutch only just got word to Trelawney about the riverboat job with the high stakes poker game, so it’ll be a few days until the gang hears back from him. “Perfect time for us to get away,” he finishes as you both trot away from Shady Belle. You’re glad for an excuse to leave the swamps.


	20. Burn Down the Mission

Warnings: swearing, light smut, blood, gore  


Word count: ~6700

Arthur leads you up north, out of Lemoyne and into New Hanover. You’re glad to see the Heartlands again, the distant blue mountains cloaked in snow. You’re even glad to see the town of Valentine, despite the muddy streets and stench of manure.  


Arthur hitches Artemis outside the store, claiming he wants to pick up a few supplies. Just as he’s walking up the stairs with you, two boys standing in front of a young woman points to him.  


“You, mister!” one of them says.  


“What you want?”  


“Can I ask you a question? Do I look like a coward to you?” asks the boy in a blue suit. You look to his brother in yellow, realizing they’re nearly identical. “I mean, obviously I do because I look like that milksop!” He gestures to his brother. “Can you help us with something?”  


“Maybe,” Arthur says, shrugging his shoulders.  


“Excellent, why don’t we go back somewhere more conductive to utter displays of gallantry and deep seated inadequacy?”  


You’re still trying to process what the man said as he leads the group behind the store, his brother calling to him.  


“Oh, you’ll be no match for me, brother, you simple minded scoundrel!”  


The boys stop beside the building and spare a quick glance to the young woman who has followed you.  


“Now,” the man in the blue suit says to Arthur. “I bet you, unlike my dear and dumb brother, can punch. Do me and the lady a favor and thrash this impudent wretch!”  


“No man alive can thrash me!” his brother declares proudly.  


“I bet this man could easily!”  


“I have an idea. Punch us both as hard as you can!” the brother in the yellow suit says. “You’ll break his glass jaw and I’ll be left standing.”  


“Good idea!” his brother snaps. “Hit me, sir! Don’t hold anything back! Wouldn’t want you disappointing your lady friend there.”  


Arthur glances back at you and chuckles, turning back to the boys.  


“A’right, but if anyone asks, you told me to do this.”  


Arthur balls up his fist and hits the yellow-suited brother in the face, who clutches his nose. You can tell Arthur was holding himself back; he’s hit men a lot harder than that.  


“Hardly felt it!” the man says, though his eyes are blinking quickly.  


“Ha ha! You really walloped him! My turn!”  


Arthur dutifully hits the other brother just as hard. The man’s body jerks to the side as he clutches his jaw.  


“Good Lord above! Doesn’t hurt at all!”  


You try not to laugh and steal a glance over to the young woman the boys are trying to impress. She’s acting quite distraught, but you can tell she’s also enjoying the show.  


“Again! Hit me again!” the yellow brother says. “Hit me right in the gut, mister!”  


Arthur just sighs and sinks his fist into the man’s stomach. Again, you can tell he’s holding back. The man grunts loudly, crouching slightly.  


“Weren’t you taught never to hit girls?” his brother says. “Come hit a real man!”  


Arthur approaches him and gives him the same treatment. The man clutches his stomach briefly before doing his best to straighten up. “Barely even felt it!” he says through clenched teeth.  


“Only one thing for it!” the yellow man says. “Hit me in the manhood!”  


“You serious?” Arthur says, shaking his hand.  


“Absolutely! Mine are made of steel, although you may cause his to explode! Come on!” The man stands with his legs slightly spread. Arthur just sighs and thrusts his leg up into the man’s groin. He crumbles, grasping himself.  


“They’ve come out his ears!” the blue man laughs. “My turn!” Arthur walks over to him and does the same, causing him to clutch himself before he, too, falls.  


“Had enough, gentlemen?” Arthur asks, frowning at them.  


“Yes!” the blue man squeals. “I hope you killed the leprechaun!”  


“He’s still alive?” the yellow man says, his voice an octave higher.  


The woman walks over to them, helping them to their feet. “We need to get some steak on those wounds.”  


Arthur shakes his head again. “Madam, gentlemen, take care.” He walks over to you, hiding a small smile. The three behind him begin walking out towards the main street, although the men are still hunched over.  


“You know,” Arthur says, gesturing for you to walk with him. “I done a lot of dumb stuff to impress women, but ain’t ever done nothin’ that stupid.”  


“Oh really?” you say with a smirk. “I can’t imagine that at all, Mr. Morgan.”  


He glances at you, smiling. “Well, I’ve never asked someone to give me a beatin’ just to prove a point.”  


You laugh and loop your arm through his. “No, I suppose not.”  


Arthur leads you into the store and he buys you a few supplies. You see on top of a small shelf in the corner a display of books. Most of them are Otis Miller books, which you’ve already read. Among them, you read other titles such as The Junglebook and The Portrait of Dorian Grey.  


“See anythin’ you like, darlin’?” he asks.  


You pick up a thicker book. “How about this one?” you say, holding it to him.  


“Dracula?” he says, taking it from you and flipping through it.  


“You ever read it?”  


“Course not. Don’t even know what it’s about.”  


“Me neither, but let’s give it a shot.”  


Arthur just shrugs his shoulders and places the book with the other items to buy. He goes up to the counter, pays and then leads you out to the street. Before mounting up, you both put on your coats and gloves.  


Arthur leads you out of Valentine and further north. You recognize the trail as the same one that leads to Cattail Pond, where you and Arthur had your first kiss. You reminisce on that memory as you cross a river. After travelling up a steep hill, the air becomes frigidly cold. The ground slowly turns from green and brown to white and after travelling a little further on, the horses begin having to pick up their feet above the thick powder.  


“I can’t believe there’s still this much snow this late in the year,” you say, rubbing your arms.  


“Me neither, but we had a hell of a spring.”  


Arthur leads you on past a frozen pond. A large bull moose slips on its icy surface in an attempt to get away from you and Arthur. You wonder if this is Lake Isabella, but Arthur continues on up the white mountain to a high ridge. Once there, the land opens to a wide valley and settled in its bottom is a large, half frozen lake. An island draped in pines sits almost exactly in the middle of it.  


“There she is,” Arthur says, pausing and patting Artemis’s neck. Rannoch breathes heavily from the steep incline, his breath exploding in frosty clouds.  


“So remind me,” you say, your teeth chattering a little, despite the white sun above you. “We’re here for a white buffalo and a giant salmon?”  


He looks over at you and laughs, his own nose and ears pink. “That’s right. I’m hopin’ we don’t have to be here more than a day. Depends how easily we can get these two.”  


Arthur nudges Artemis on down the mountainside. Rannoch follows her without you having to guide him, slipping slightly on rocks hidden beneath the snow. Finally the ground levels out and the horses step onto the ice of the lake, which creaks but holds.  


“Arthur, let me take one of the animals, we can get this done faster.”  


“I’ll take the fish, sweetheart,” Arthur says, dismounting on the island. “I know you done plenty of trackin’. This buffalo should be easy for you. You still got them poison arrows?”  


You pull up your sheath and look through it, spotting the arrows Charles had given you some time ago. You nod to Arthur and he smiles. “Good. Well, let’s do this before we lose too much sunlight.”  


Arthur gets back on Artemis and heads over to the south end of the lake, which has the least amount of ice. The cold, dark water beckons to you gently in the wind and you shiver.  


You turn your attention to the north, looking for the most likely places to find traces of a buffalo. You know it would stay out in the open of the valley and most of the sides of the mountains are covered in thick pines. You grab your bow and begin moving towards the path curving the west side of the lake.  


Something white moves ahead of you on the trail. You stop, thinking it’s the buffalo, but as your eyes adjust to the blinding snow in the sun, you make out the form of a small, white horse. Its curved face marks it as an Arabian. You study it for a moment before moving on.  


Close to the edge of the trees, you finally come across promising signs of buffalo dung. Inspecting it, you find that it was laid down maybe an hour ago. In the snow leading away from it and towards the north end of the lake, you see the faint tracks it left behind. You follow them as they wind around to the western side. You kneel down and inspect a bush with clear signs of having been browsed on when you hear a loud snort. Looking up, you spot between two evergreens the massive form of a buffalo. Just as Arthur had said, its coat is as white as the snow surrounding you.  


Slowly you take your bow and one of the poison arrows. Taking aim, you fire and the arrow slams into the animal’s shoulder. He roars in pain and surprise, charging away from you. You give chase, nearly losing your footing more than once in the snow. You run over a small rise and find him collapsed on the other side. Approaching him slowly, knowing even in this state he’s still dangerous, you ready your knife. You quickly plunge it into his chest and he gives a final cry before falling limp. You begin to skin the giant animal with some difficulty, but you do your best to keep the pelt in good shape. Once it’s done, you whistle for your horse and Rannoch comes pounding towards you.  


“Hey boy,” you say affectionately as you throw the pelt over his hindquarters. You prepare to mount him when your foot slips on a hidden rock and you fall on your back into the thick powder. You swear, picking yourself back up and brushing yourself off as best you can.  


“Let’s try that again, boy,” you say, being more careful as you mount up. You guide him back down to the frozen lake and spot Arthur standing on the edge of the ice, his rod pointing over the water. He spots you and waves; you return the gesture.  


“Glad you didn’t have too much trouble,” Arthur says as you stop Rannoch near Artemis.  


“Yeah. He went down pretty easy. Gotta love them poison arrows.”  


He agrees with a small laugh as you dismount and stand next to him.  


“Any luck?” you ask.  


“Nah. This bastard’s been toyin’ with the lure a bit, but he can’t decide if he really wants it.”  


Arthur sighs and collapses his pole.  


“What’s wrong?” you say.  


“Nothin’. How about we get a fire goin’, let you at least stay warm while I fish for this monster.”  


“I can do that myself, Arthur. Why don’t you keep fishin’?”  


“‘Cause I need a break.”  


You shrug your shoulders and the two of you walk on the ice, slipping a little, over to firm land. There, you scour the area for anything you can use to light a fire, finding a few small logs that are fairly dry. Arthur begins the fire and you set up the tent.  


“Why don’t you get some of that bison cookin’?” he says, adjusting his gloves.  


“Okay, you gonna try again?”  


He shrugs his shoulders and walks back to the water, pulling out his pole once more as you kneel down to begin cooking. 

The sun is beginning to set by the time Arthur finally hooks something he thinks is a big fish. He reels it in, fighting with it every few moments.  


“Think I finally got this damn bastard,” he grunts.  


You put down the book you’ve been reading aloud and stand up as Arthur pulls up a giant red salmon.  


“Jesus, he is a monster, ain’t he?” you say.  


“Yeah. Hope that idiot will be happy.”  


“What idiot?”  


Arthur tells you about a man he met several weeks ago named Jeremy Gill. He explains that the man will pay a lot of money for big fish that he will then sell to his fans so they can say they caught it while fishing with him. The idea confuses you.  


“People seriously pay money to pretend they’ve caught some monster fish?”  


“I guess. Don’t make much sense to me,” Arthur says as he wraps the fish up and throws it over Artemis. He looks up at the red sky. “Hmm, probably too late for us to do much travellin’. You okay if we stay here, darlin’?”  


You’re just about to suggest that you can travel through the night just fine when a long, low howl comes drifting over the snow in the direction you’d have to take to get out of the snow. You sigh and decide that the lake might not be a bad idea after all.  


Arthur sits down next to you as you hand him a strip of bison and a can of corn.  


“Damn this cold,” he says.  


“You’re the one that wanted to come up here,” you tease.  


“I know, but at least the company makes up for it.”  


You blush and smile. “You flatter me, Arthur.”  


He chuckles, sitting next to the fire and staring into the flames. The sky is black except for the full moon, bathing the landscape in silver. Arthur yawns heavily.  


“Come on, cowboy,” you say, standing up. “Let’s get some rest.”  


You’re just about to walk into the tent when he grabs you. You turn and find he’s unbuttoned his coat, revealing his blue shirt beneath. Without a word, he pulls you in tight against him, wrapping his coat around you. You’re immediately enveloped in his heat as you bury your face into his chest.  


“You cold or somethin’?” you say, your hands resting on his sides.  


“Or somethin’,” he grunts, making you laugh.  


“Big, tough gunslinger.”  


He chuckles and kisses your forehead. “What? A man can’t enjoy holding his girl like this?”  


Warmth blossoms in your chest again. You look up at him. “I love you, Arthur Morgan.”  


“And I love you, Y/N.” He bends down and places a gentle kiss to your lips. You smile up at him and pull off your gloves. Draping your arms around his shoulders, you press your cold hands to the back of his neck, making him flinch.  


“Woo!” he says as you laugh. “Your hands are cold! What happened to your gloves?”  


“Nothin’, they’re here.” You withdraw your hands from his neck, showing him your gloves.  


“Well that ain’t too nice,” he says. He lets you go and starts walking towards the tent. Just as you’re putting on your gloves, something cold hits you in the face. You jump and brush yourself off, looking up to see Arthur grinning.  


“Karma, sweetheart!”  


“I didn’t hit you in the face, Morgan!” you yell and charge him. He laughs and braces himself as you plow into him. His foot slips, sending him down onto his back as you both chuckle, you propped on him. You study his blue eyes, the scar on his nose, the tip pink, the pair of scars on his chin. Leaning down, you kiss him, his gloved hand tangling into your hair.  


When you break away, he smiles up at you. “Think I’m feelin’ a bit warmer now, darlin’.”  


“Arthur!” you playfully smack his shoulder as he laughs. He gets up, helping you get to your feet and enters the tent. Laying in the cot, he holds you close, wrapping his coat around you once again. 

The next morning, you and Arthur take down camp and head south out of the snow. Once you reach the railroad, you both take off your thick coats.  


“Well, Arthur,” you say. “Hopefully we won’t need an excuse to head up into the cold again for a while.”  


He chuckles. “I don’t think we will, darlin’. Hope you didn’t hate it too much.”  


“I would have if I was by myself, but you made it bearable.”  


He laughs again and leads you across the river towards Valentine, claiming he needs to send the fish to Jeremy Gill. He stops just outside the train station and heads in with the wrapped up fish. While he’s in there, you stay outside, leaning on the fence and enjoying the warm sun. You suddenly notice a pair of men across the road staring at you. 

Something about them seems familiar, but you can’t put a finger on them. One of them is wearing a bowler hat with a green band around it.  


Arthur comes out of the station and mounts up on Artemis.  


“Well, guess we shouldn’t wander too far from town,” he says. “Think Eagle Flies wants us to meet him close to here. No point headin’ back to camp yet.” He turns Artemis to head into town and you see that the two men are gone. You look around to find them but don’t see them anywhere.  


Arthur stops by the butcher and sells the buffalo pelt for $25.  


“What do you want to do until sunset?” you ask from the back of your horse.  


“Oh I got an idea, I think,” he says with a small wink.  


“You gonna tell me?”  


“Nope. Just follow me, princess.”  


You roll your eyes as he mounts up and leads you south out of Valentine. You travel along the road, past the cluster of trees marking Horseshoe Overlook, heading further south until you approach the massive Flat Iron Lake.  


It’s just past noon by the time you reach the shores, surrounded by a thick grove of trees.The day is unusually hot, a stark difference from the snows you’ve left behind. You wipe your face with your bandana as Arthur dismounts Artemis.  


“What are we doin’ here?” you ask, hopping onto the sand.  


“Nothin’ special,” he says. “Hold on a minute, I gotta do somethin’.”  


You lead Rannoch to the water as he strolls off into the trees, leaving you in the small clearing. Figuring he’s relieving himself, you sit on a large rock. A few moments pass and he still hasn’t reappeared. You’re beginning to worry, remembering those fellows from town. You hear something rustling in the bushes.  


You turn and see Arthur walking towards you, completely nude except for the hat on his head. You raise your brows as you take in his body in all its glory. He smirks at you, seeing where you’re staring. He stops a few feet from you and puts his hand on his hip, thrusting it out to the side.  


“What are you doin’?” you say, forcing your eyes up.  


“I don’t know ‘bout you, darlin’, but it’s hot as hell. Figured we could enjoy a good swim.”  


You smile nervously and look behind him into the trees.  


“You sure we can’t be seen?” you ask.  


“Why do you think I chose this spot?” He smiles again at you and walks past you into the water up to his waist. He turns back to you and lifts his hands to you. “Well?”  


You shake your head and stand up, quickly removing your clothes, painfully aware of his eyes trained on you. Once you’re naked, you wander towards him into the water.  


“Okay, honey,” you say, stopping a few feet from him. “You got me here. Now what?”  


He smiles down at you and approaches you. He takes off his hat and places it on your head. It slides down past your eyes, so you tip it up and smile at him. “Hmm, think it looks better on you,” he says.  


You chuckle and close the distance between you. He folds his arms around you, his hands sliding over your back. You stretch up to kiss him when he suddenly pushes you away and dives under the water, purposefully splashing you. You rub your eyes, looking for him. You glance down and see nothing but your toes digging into the mud. You hear a splashing several feet behind you and so you turn, spotting him popping out of the water with a playful smirk.  


“Oh so we’re doing that, are we?” you say. You rip off his hat and toss it to the shore. He suddenly stares at you hungrily, his eyes lowering to your exposed chest. You sink down into the water until the water reaches your chin and you grin at him. He begins approaching you, chuckling. Just as he’s about to reach you, you dive beneath the water and swim away from him, quickly circling him. Once you’re behind him, you jump up and grab onto his back. You hold yourself against him, your face pressed to his firm back. His hands grab your arms, pulling them tighter around him.  


“You know,” you say. “I never did pay you back for that day in the woods all those weeks ago.”  


“Sweetheart, I didn’t do that with thought of payment.”  


“All the more reason,” you say.  


You slide your hand down his body, studying his skin until you find his half-hard groin. You begin stroking him, your other hand wandering down to join. He sighs heavily, tipping his head back as his length stiffens in your hand. You begin pumping him as his hips begin to thrust gently.  


You take one of your hands away from him so you can turn him to face you. His face is deeply reddened as your hand returns to his cock and continues pumping. He groans heavily, his hips continuing to thrust as his length throbs. You lean in close to him and lick his neck, his hands tangling into your hair.  


“Oh God, darlin’,” he grunts, his voice wavering. You smile and continue to lick and kiss his neck. You pump him harder, his breathing starts to quicken. His hips suddenly lift as he explodes in the water.  


Once his release has passed, he looks down at you, his flushed face sweaty.  


“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, his hands still in your hair. “I don’t want you sayin’ you owe me no more.”  


“Okay, Mr. Morgan.”  


Without warning, his hands travel down to your waist. He picks you up and you wrap your legs around him. He walks forward to the shoreline before he topples on top of you. There, he makes love to you under the blazing sun. 

By afternoon, you and Arthur wake up from your midday nap and decide it’s time to get dressed and make your way up to meet Eagle Flies. You tighten your boots and stand as Arthur brushes off his hat.  


“We should do that more often,” you say with a smile. “That was...well.”  


“The best we’ve had?” he finishes with a smile.  


“Exactly.” You study the two small bruises on his neck, a mark from your activities.  


You mount up on Rannoch with a small wince which Arthur doesn’t miss. “Sorry, darlin’.”  


“Don’t be, Arthur. The price to pay for something that good.”  


“Well, let me know if you need to stop.”  


He leads you out of the trees, heading back up north. You cross into the Heartlands and back up towards Valentine. After a few moments, the tall tower marking the oilfield comes into view. You spot on a ridge overlooking the field a dark man standing next to a horse. Arthur sees him too and canters directly up to him. You recognize him as Eagle Flies and he nods to you.  


“You came,” he says.  


“We said we would,” Arthur says as you both dismount.  


Eagle Flies hands him a pair of binoculars and explains about a foreman named Danbury, who holds the subject reports in his office.  


“The reports will be destroyed if Danbury suspects anyone is coming for them,” Eagle Flies finishes.  


“There’s only one of me, son, I don’t plan on bein’ spotted,” Arthur says.  


“You mean we don’t plan on being spotted,” you say.  


“No, I mean me. You’re gonna stay here with Eagle Flies. This’ll be easier if I do it alone.”  


You roll your eyes but decide not to argue, knowing you won’t win. Arthur asks a few questions regarding the reports.  


“If there’s a problem, call for me,” Eagle Flies says, his face stony.  


“Thought the whole point was so no one suspects you.”  


“Ideally,” Eagle Flies says.  


A covered wagon travels down the path beneath the ridge towards the oil field. Arthur dashes down the ridge and catches up to it, hopping into the back and out of sight.  


“Come on,” Eagle Flies says. “I suspect he will need some help to get out. It’s unlikely he will escape unseen.”  


“Give him some credit,” you say, pulling out your binoculars and watching the wagon Arthur’s hidden himself in.  


“Forgive me if I harbor some doubt,” Eagle Flies hisses. “I never trust mercenaries.”  


“He ain’t a mercenary.”  


“Then why am I paying him to do my people’s work?”  


You lower the binoculars. You can understand his frustrations but decide not to tell him the truth behind Arthur’s motives when it comes to money. “It’s complicated.”  


“Well, whatever it is, I think we ought to be ready just in case he needs help escaping.”  


He hops onto his horse, which is almost completely white except for the large sandy spot covering the majority of its back. You follow him down the ledge on Rannoch, Artemis following silently. Eagle Flies leads you to the tall oil rig and he stops.  


You watch for signs of Arthur through the darkness as the sun vanishes beyond the mountains. Nearly fifteen minutes pass when you hear a man shouting at someone to stop and put their hands up.  


“He’s been spotted!” Eagle Flies utters. “Let’s burn this place!”  


“Let me! The less likely you’re seen, the better.” You reach into your satchel and pull out a bottle of alcohol and some cloth. You soak the cloth quickly and stuff half of it into the bottle, lighting the other half. As it begins to burn, you toss the bottle towards the tower and the black ground it sits on. The bottle explodes and the ground quickly catches fire. Several yells of shock and confusion crack through the air as gunfire rings out. You and Eagle Flies slip past the burning ground as you pull out your rifle, firing it at some of the guards who dash about. Through the smoke, you see Arthur running towards you.  


“Come on!” Eagle Flies yells to him, shooting an arrow into a guard’s head. Arthur jumps up into Artemis’s saddle and the three of you gallop onto the plains, depending on the darkness to cloak you. Three men on horses follow you, but they’re taken down quickly.  


Eagle Flies leads you to the ridge where he met you and stops. The three of you look down at the burning fields before dismounting your horses.  


“That explosion came just in time,” Arthur says.  


“It was her idea, but I was happy to see that oil burn,” Eagle Flies says. “Did you meet Mr. Danbury?”  


“Yes, he was very obliging. Thought you wasn’t gettin’ involved?”  


“And I thought you were going to leave silently,” Eagle Flies says, handing him the money.  


Arthur shakes his head and tells him to keep it, handing him the reports. “You saved my life.”  


“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I hope, well, I don’t know what I hope. Maybe these will be of use.” He thanks you and mounts onto his horse, cantering away.  


“I hope things didn’t go too badly?” you say to him as you both hop onto your horses and trot down the ledge.  


“Nah. Had to scare that foreman near half to death to get them papers, but he didn’t seem too brave to begin with.”  


Arthur leads you away from the oil field, south into the Heartlands. On top of a tall mountain overlooking the burning fields, he stops and you both set up camp. After cooking a quick meal, you climb into the tent and snuggle close to him. His hands brush through your hair until you fall asleep. 

In the morning, you quickly pack up camp and Arthur suggests heading back to Shady Belle. You don’t feel like returning yet. Not only will Grimshaw fly on you faster than the devil himself, you haven’t enjoyed camping there. It’s not just the bugs, alligators and muggy air. Something about the place just doesn’t feel right.  


“It’s still pretty early, Arthur. Maybe we should do some hunting?”  


“Shoar. You wanna stick together or split up?” he says.  


“Let’s split up, we can cover more ground that way.”  


“A’right, darlin’. If you need anythin’, just fire your gun three times.”  


You agree before he heads west on Artemis. You go further south, patting Rannoch as he trots through the tall grass. You spot the tree with whiskey bottles dangling from its branches, remembering the night when you’d first seen it while looking for Arthur after he was captured by the O’Driscolls.  


“Hey, stop your horse!” two men yell, quickly rounding a bend in the pathyou. They’re pointing their rifles and you stop Rannoch, recognizing them from Valentine. The lilt in their voices tells you they’re O’Driscolls. A third man pops out from behind the tree and grabs Rannoch’s reins. He points his pistol at you.  


“This has gotta be her!” he yells to his companions.  


“Why don’t ya slide off your horse?” one of the men on the horses says. “Make a sound or even touch your pistol, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”  


You eye their guns and do as you’re told. As soon as your feet touch the ground, the O’Driscoll lets go of Rannoch and he slams his pistol into your face, shoving Rannoch as he throws you down. Rannoch rears up in fright and darts off as the man ties you up. You try to fight him off, but you’re dizzy from the hit to your head.  


One of the others laughs as he hops off his horse. “You really think this is her?”  


“She was with Morgan,” the other says. “She has to be the one who rescued him.”  


“So you’re Morgan’s whore?” the man who tied you up says. He reaches down and unbuckles your gun belt, tossing it to the side of the road. He flips you over on your back as the three stand above you.  


“Let me go, fella,” you say. “Let’s just put this all behind us. You almost killed Mr. Morgan and you killed Kieran Duffy. I think we’ve had enough blood shed, don’t you?”  


“Oh no,” the man who tied you says. He kneels down beside you and sharply stuffs a bandana into your mouth. You’re beginning to panic. The ropes are so tight your hands and feet are tingling. You can’t see a way out of this now that you’ve no way to use your voice and call for help.  


“What should we do with her?” one of them says. “She’s got a pretty big bounty in Blackwater. Should we take her there?”  


“She killed my cousin!” the one who tied you yells. “I say we send her back to ol’ Morgan the same way we did with Kieran.”  


The other two laugh and agree. The man who tied you up whips out a knife, running his thumb across the blade. “Let’s start with the eyes.”  


He kneels down beside you, hovering the blade above your face. His free hand painfully grabs your chin, preventing you from turning your head.  


Something behind him explodes and you hear the sound of something heavy thudding on the ground coming from the direction of the onlookers. The man holding you releases your face and stands up, his head suddenly bursts, splattering you in blood. His body collapses onto your thighs and you grunt into the gag as another shot rings through the air. You watch as the last O’Driscoll is flung back by the impact, his pistol firing into the sky.  


You look over and see Arthur dismounting his horse. He stalks over to you and throws the body off your legs. “Goddamn bastards,” he mutters as he removes the bandana from your mouth. You gasp, glad to breathe freely.  


“Oh thank God,” you say as Arthur cuts the binds around your ankles. He helps you to your feet and frees your hands. You turn back around and are just about to say something when he pulls you into a hug.  


“You okay?” he rumbles into your ear. You wrap your arms around his waist, trying to hide how much you’re shaking.  


“I’m okay, Arthur. How’d you know to come looking for me?”  


He lets you go enough so you can lean back and look at him properly. He runs his thumb across the cut on your forehead from the O’Driscoll’s pistol. “Rannoch came runnin’ over. When I saw you weren’t on him, I knew you was in trouble.”  


“Where is he?”  


Arthur turns and points behind him and you see your appaloosa standing next to Artemis. He snorts as you walk up to him, smiling. “You saved my life, boy.”  


“Sure, and I did nothin’,” Arthur teases, walking up behind you.  


“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You stretch up and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”  


“Don’t mention it, darlin’. Let’s just get out of here before more trouble comes our way.”  


You both mount up and head in the direction of Emerald Ranch, hunting along the way. Once away from the ambush sight, you travel with Arthur down into Lemoyne and towards camp. You’re glad to be leaving the Heartlands for a while, as beautiful as they are. You rub your raw wrists and do your best to stay calm, but the aftershock of the attack is beginning to set in, causing you to shiver. Being behind Arthur, he doesn’t notice.  


Arthur leads you through the trees towards Shady Belle and you hitch your horses. Once you dismount, Arthur walks over to you, his hand sliding around your waist.  


“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.  


You nod, although you’re still shivering a little, despite the heat. “Just… just a little shaken, I guess.”  


“That’s normal, sweetheart. Come here.” He pulls you into a tight hug once more, cradling your head to his chest. His scent and his warmth are comforting and familiar, you’re already feeling less shaky.  


Something stomps through the wet grass in your direction and you look up to see Grimshaw looking angrier than ever.  


“Here we go again,” you mumble loud enough for Arthur to hear.  


“Ms. Y/L/N!” she roars, putting her hands on her hips as Arthur lets you go. “We been slavin’ away in this dump and you been off playin’!”  


She makes to grab you but Arthur lifts a hand to stop her.  


“Ms. Grimshaw, she was helpin’ me find leads in Saint Denis.”  


She lowers her hands and glares at him. “And did you find anything worth while, Mr. Morgan? Everyone’s gotta earn their keep!”  


“We did, actually. Plus, we did some huntin’. I promise, we were workin’ the whole time.”  


“Well fine, Mr. Morgan By the way, Dutch needs to speak to you. Y/N, I think you need to stay in camp the next few days. We could really use your help. ”  


She marches off, muttering to herself and you sigh. “Thanks, honey.”  


You both take your hunting load up to Pearson. “Excellent. I can finally make a good stew.”  


Arthur claps a hand to your shoulder and says he’s going to speak with Dutch. You make your way over to the crates where the other girls do the sewing. You sit down yourself and pick up one of Bill’s torn shirts. Mary-Beth sits beside you, unusually quiet while Karen hums to herself from the last remaining crate.  


“How you holdin’ up?” you ask Mary-Beth in a soft voice. She shrugs her shoulders, not looking up from her work.  


“He was such a gentle soul,” she finally says, lowering her sewing. “I still don’t understand how anyone could hurt him.”  


“Some people,” you begin, not really knowing what to say, “are just born bad. Kieran was the last person who deserved that. He was a good man.”  


Mary-Beth sighs and returns to her work. Arthur strolls towards you. He stops and looks at her before putting a hand on her shoulder.  


“How you doin’, Mary-Beth?”  


“I… I’m okay, Mr. Morgan. Just promise me those bastards will get what’s comin’ to them.”  


“We will, Mary-Beth. If it helps, we killed three of ‘em this mornin’.”  


She nods and returns to her work again. Arthur turns to you. “Sweetheart, I gotta go to town again. Trelawney found a way onto that boat you heard about. I guess women are allowed on the boat but I don’t think they can go into the parlor. If you wanna come…”  


You smile up at him and shake your head. “Sitting in some lounge waiting for you to rob some fools doesn’t sound like a ton of fun, Arthur. Besides, I think if I step foot out of camp again, Grimshaw will skin me.”  


“Okay,” he chuckles. “Well, keep Mary-Beth company.”  


You nod and he bends down and kisses you briefly before making his way back to Artemis.  


“That boy’s crazy about you,” Karen says. You smile at her, but you feel slightly guilty being so open in your romance in front of Mary-Beth. She and Kieran may not have had anything going on, but it was obvious they were sweet on each other.  


For the next few hours, you and the others work on chores, but no one picks up a long conversation. By late afternoon, Hosea walks up to Pearson looking pleased.  


“We shouldn’t be here too much longer,” you hear him say.  


“Why’s that?”  


“That bank job should get us enough to get out of here, then we can go north or west or wherever Dutch thinks might be best.”  


“Thought I heard him mention Tahiti?” Pearson asks.  


“Yes, he wants to go there, maybe pick up ranching or mango farming. Who knows? The point is this bank job’s going to help end our troubles, Pearson.”  


Hosea pats him on the shoulder and walks off to the gazebo, coughing slightly as he lights his pipe.  


“You really think we’ll go to some tropical island?” you say to Karen and Mary-Beth.  


Tilly’s scrubbing laundry behind Karen. She leans back to look at you. “Maybe. I been hearin’ Dutch talk a lot about it.”  


You secretly hope the gang doesn’t decide to go to some island. Something doesn’t feel right about it, and it’s unlikely your problems will be any less. Not only that, you’re beginning to miss the west, the open country. 

Night falls and Arthur still has not returned. You’ve noticed that Strauss and Javier are absent as well and figure they’re helping him with the job. You sit by the fire, finally finished with the day’s work, sipping from a bottle of beer. John suddenly plops himself down next to you.  


“Hey, Y/N,” he says.  


“Marston.”  


You fall into an easy silence for a moment. “How’s the boy and Abigail?” you finally ask.  


“They’re fine. Abigail… well, she still nags me every chance she gets. Wish I could get Jack to stop saying them weird Italian words that son of a bitch taught him.”  


You chuckle as you take a drink. You’ve heard Jack saying a few foreign words since he returned from being Bronte’s captive, as well as mentioning strange foods such as spaghetti.  


John sighs and rubs his hands over his eyes. Abigail calls to him from the balcony of the house, demanding he come help put Jack to bed.  


“It never stops,” he says and gets up. You bid him good night and turn back to the fire. You debate whether to go up to your own bed or to stay up and wait for Arthur. After a while, you decide to get some sleep, so you drain the last of your beer and head up.


	21. The Ghost of Lagras

Warnings: swearing, blood  


Word count: ~7000

You wake in the morning to find the bed empty. After dressing, you search the camp. You run into Javier and Strauss, who had been with him last night, but not Arthur. Javier’s playing his guitar for Karen and Tilly. You approach him and ask where Arthur is.  


“Think he stayed in town, said he had some jobs to do,” he answers. You nod and recall the letter he’d received from the mayor. For the next little while, you do your chores around camp, making sure Grimshaw has no reason to attack you.  


Pearson approaches you at midday, grinning widely beneath his thick mustache.  


“Y/N!” he says.  


“Hello, Pearson.”  


“You busy?”  


“Not any more than usual,” you say, rubbing your hands on your jeans from scrubbing dishes.  


“Good. Listen, I could use some help with something. I’d ask one of the boys, but most of them are busy.”  


“What is it?”  


“Crawfish!”  


“Crawfish?” you repeat. “What are you talking about?”  


“You know, crawfish! Come on, I’ll teach you how to get ‘em. We are in God’s pantry after all.”  


“That ain’t what I’d call this place,” you say, following him over to the boathouse. He unties a small boat from the pier and gestures for you to get in. You do so with some hesitancy, painfully aware of what lurks beneath the water. He seems to sense it.  


“Come on, Y/N. Nothings gonna happen to you. Besides, out there are some of the best ingredients a cook could ask for.”  


“And monsters,” you say, sitting at the front of the boat while Pearson begins to row down the river.  


“Oh come on. I keep on hearin’ around the camp how you’re one of the toughest girls. You tellin’ me they’re wrong?”  


“When it comes to gators, yes!”  


Pearson chortles and pulls up to one of the islands dotting the river bank. He takes a look around and nods approvingly.  


“This is the perfect place. Nice mucky places like this are crawfish palaces. Let’s go see if we can find some.”  


He hops out of the boat, wading through the green water. You follow him, making sure to touch the water as little as possible. You’ve no idea what to look for when it comes to crawfish, but Pearson finds a hole on the bank.  


“Ah, yes. There should be a few down here.” He kneels down and reaches into the hole nearly up to his shoulder. He twists his arm for a few seconds before he laughs and pulls up, a brown crawfish in his hands. You’ve seen plenty of crawfish in the lake near Blackwater, but this one seems to be a larger species with dark dots lining down its light brown body. Pearson places it into his satchel and gestures at the hole. “You’re turn. Just repeat what I did.”  


You take a deep breath and kneel down, trying to ignore the unpleasant squishing under your knee. Reaching into the hole, you pray you don’t get pinched as you twist your arm. Pearson encourages you and you suddenly feel your fingers brush against something hard and smooth. Wrapping your fingers around it, a sharp pain hits your pinky finger. You squeal and shoot your hand out, a crawfish latched onto your pinky.  


Pearson laughs and bends down, wrenching the claws open and putting the crawfish into his satchel.  


“Happens to everyone on their first try,” he says, chuckling.  


“Thanks for tellin’ me!” you massage the pink spot on your finger.  


"If I told you, you’d never have done it. Now come on, one more.”  


“No thank you, Pearson. You want crawfish for dinner, catch ‘em yourself.” You stand up, still massaging your finger. Pearson waves a hand at you and goes back to the hole, reaching in and pulling another one out.  


“That should do it,” he says. He looks around, his eyes narrowed. He turns back to you with a sly smile. “There’s one more thing we could go for. Bit risky, but the reward is worth it.”  


“Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling, Pearson?”  


He chuckles and pats your arm. “Gator eggs!”  


“What the hell, Pearson?” you screech. “Crawfish are one thing, but fuckin’ gator eggs?! I guess you don’t care if you lose your foot.”  


“Oh don’t worry, nothing like that will happen. I’ll do the hard work. Now come on, let’s see if we can find some.”  


You groan and follow him through the muck until he stops and hunches down, waving his hands at you.  


“See that? Females guarding their nests. Okay, I’ll draw them away, you sneak in and raid the nests.”  


Before you have a chance to debate, he runs towards the gators and starts hollering at them. The gators growl loudly but don’t move. Pearson takes a few steps closer, only yards away from a 12 foot gator. She growls again as he gets closer. He hollers at her and takes another step. He grunts loudly as the three gators suddenly get up and give chase. As they leave the area, you suck in a deep breath and run to the three nests, grabbing the eggs as quickly as you can.  


Just as you’re finishing looting the last nest, you hear Pearson yelling at you. You look up and see the three gators slowly making their way back. Shrieking, you run off as quickly as you can through the muck and make your way over to the boat, which Pearson is already in. He laughs as you sit down, wiping your brow.  


“You get a good bundle?” he asks, rowing back to the dock.  


“I think so. Why’d you want them anyways?”  


“These are some of the best ingredients I could ask for!”  


“After all that effort, why not just go the extra mile and raise one of them?”  


“There’s an idea,” he says excitedly as you hand him one of the eggs. “A new friend! To replace Micah, I suppose, although I’m not sure we can handle more than one reptile.”  


You laugh and pat him on the back, making your way back to the house. Once inside, you spot Molly sitting in the corner of the room, her head in one of her hands, looking miserable. An empty rum bottle sits next to her.  


“Hello, Ms. O’Shea,” you say.  


She looks up at you with bloodshot eyes. “Oh not you too!” She gets up and marches out of the house, wobbling slightly.  


Mary-Beth enters the room, sitting down on the couch with a heavy sigh. She greets you, a hint of sadness in her voice.  


“Hey Mary-Beth, you know what’s going on with Molly?”  


She sighs again. “Guess she and Dutch had another fight this mornin’. He’s been, well, he’s been strange with her. Almost like he don’t want her around no more.”  


You nod, watching Molly wander farther away from the house. “I wish we could help her. But seems like she doesn’t want nothing from us.”  


Mary-Beth just nods and opens her book. Outside, you hear Hosea greeting Arthur. You dash out to meet him and find him looking slightly riled.  


“Arthur!” you greet, walking up to him.  


He smiles when he sees you and waves. Approaching him, you can see he’s coated in sweat, although his face is clean shaven.  


“What happened to you? Everything okay? You didn’t come home last night.”  


“I know, darlin’.” He drapes an arm over your shoulder and walks with you towards the back of the house where it’s more secluded. He tells you about the river boat; you sigh when he gets to the part about the shootout.  


“After that, I went to go meet the charmin’ mayor,” he says. He leads you to the porch of the boathouse and you both sit down on old wooden chairs. He pulls out his knife and a strip of jerky, cutting a piece for you.  


“How was he?” you ask.  


“Real odd feller. Seems to have figured out who I really am. Threatened me into doin’ a job for him, just scarin’ some local art critic to lie about some forgeries.”  


“What’s his name again?”  


“Lemieux. He had some small, stringy feller named Jean Marc. Anyways, I suspect he’ll call on me again, scare somebody else.”  


“Well at least he didn’t ask you to kill someone.”  


“I guess. I just wonder if it's only a matter of time before that happens. Feller like him must have plenty of enemies,” he says, his face hidden by his hat.  


You study his clean-shaven face, noticing his hard jaw line. “How come you shaved?”  


He looks up at you, caught off guard by the question. The scars on his chin are more prominent than ever. “Huh?”  


You reach over and touch his cheek, running your thumb across his jaw. “How come you shaved? I ain’t never seen you without stubble.”  


“Oh, that,” he straightens up, running a hand over his chin. “Trelawney wanted us to look the part for that boat job. Put me in some fancy suit and told me no rich men have beards like mine, so I had to shave. It’ll be back in a day or two.”  


Smiling, you bend over and kiss his jawline. “Hmm, I don’t mind it. Still handsome as ever.”  


He chuckles and puts an arm around you. “And you’re still too good for me.” He pulls you close, your head drifting down to his shoulder. His lips brush your forehead and you can feel he’s smiling. You stare off into the swamp. An egret lands on a branch above the water, an alligator’s head protruding from the water beneath.  


“So how come you came back lookin’ like you ran a race?” you ask.  


“Oh. Met that Brother Dorkins again, introduced me to a sister. Can’t remember her name, but one of them damn urchin boys stole her cross. When I got it back, I, uh, bumped into that Downes widow.”  


“Who?”  


Arthur reminds you of the debt he was supposed to get when he found you after the Murfree attack, and how he had to threaten the man’s widow after the bank heist in Valentine. You vaguely recall them.  


“What about her?” you say.  


“Well, she and her son are in Saint Denis, and she’s… well, she didn’t seem to be doin’ too well. Guess I scared her real bad first time we met, she panicked and set the law on me. Chased me out of town.”  


“Jesus, Arthur, how badly you threaten her to make her do that?”  


He shrugs his shoulders. “When she accused me of havin’ a hand in her husband’s death, I threatened to kill her son.”  


“Wait, how did you have a hand in her husband’s death? If I remember correctly, Micah beat him for the debt.”  


“He did, but she said since I was workin’ for Strauss, I was just as responsible. And like I said, I threatened to kill her son. That and I took what little money they seemed to have left for the debt.”  


You take his hand, not really knowing what to say. Arthur wouldn’t have done that had Strauss not twisted his arm, but everyone knows Arthur’s good at scaring people. He hates it, you know he does.  


Quick footsteps suddenly march over to you and you straighten up from Arthur’s shoulder. Dutch approaches quickly, his face smiling. “Think it’s time, my boy!”  


“Time for what, Dutch?” Arthur takes his arm from your shoulders.  


“The trolley station! Lenny says he’ll do it with us, we should head to town soon and do it.”  


“Now, Dutch? I just got back to camp.”  


“Time doesn’t wait for anyone, Arthur, and we need money.”  


“I know, Dutch. What’s happened to you? Couple days in this swamp and you turnin’ into some city boy, livin’ by your watch.”  


Dutch puts his hands on his hips and furrows his brows. “I just want us to get out of here, Arthur. Thought you did, too.”  


“I do. We all do, Dutch, but you really think it’s smart doin’ this so soon after that river boat?”  


“No one’s going to connect them, Arthur.” Dutch throws you a quick glare but then he sighs. “Fine. We won’t go today, but first thing in the morning, we’re going to town.”  


Arthur waves at him with two fingers as Dutch walks away.  


“Somethin’ don’t feel right about this,” he says.  


“How do you mean?”  


“I don’t know. Bronte was just so smug about it. Maybe I just don’t trust anythin’ that comes out of that snake’s mouth.”  


You sigh and stand up, offering your hand. “You’re right not to, but come on, cowboy. I gotta finish my chores so Grimshaw doesn’t flay me alive. Keep me company?”  


He smiles and takes your hand, standing up.

The next morning, you’re cuddled in bed with Arthur, your naked body drawn close to him. You open your eyes and shift slightly against his chest. His hand twitches on your side. Looking up, you see him awake. He smiles at you and kisses your nose.  


“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says.  


You sigh and bury your nose into his neck. “Ain’t the word I’d use for me, Arthur.”  


“Well, it’s the word I’m gonna use for ya.”  


“You’re sweet. A liar, but sweet.”  


“Hey,” he says, his hand sliding up to your shoulder. He begins tracing your scar. “I may have lied a lot in the past, but never to you. Especially not with what I think about ya.”  


You lean up on your elbow, looking him in the face. “Why?”  


“Why what?”  


“Why do you find me beautiful, Arthur? You’re the only person who’s ever called me that, so either you’re lying or-”  


“Or maybe no one else has taken the time to see what I see, darlin’. You wanna know somethin’?”  


“What?”  


He smiles, his thumb running across your shoulder. “When I first picked up your bounty poster in Blackwater, I was sure they’d gotten your picture wrong. I’ve taken in a few women bounties before. Most of the pretty ones were wanted for robbery or somethin’ along those lines. The ones who were wanted for murder tended to be, well, not so pretty. So when I saw your photo, I said they must have gotten somethin’ wrong. Sheriff confirmed you killed your family.”  


He pauses and you lay back down, nuzzling into his neck. “When I found ya by Aurora, I remember thinkin’ how pretty you was. That’s why I asked you that night if you really killed your family. That and the fact you didn’t fight me much.”  


You let out a small chuckle. “I remember that. I… wasn’t very happy.”  


“I know. My point is that I’ve thought you were beautiful since I first met ya. Now I see you’re beautiful outside and in. That’s why I love ya.”  


He pauses, his thumb tracing your scar again. He sighs. “Y’know, Mary was pretty. Real pretty. But she knew how to play me, always wanted somethin’ from me. I ain’t too sure why I felt anythin’ for her, all she did was take. When I had nothin’ else to offer, she threw me out like a badly behaved dog. But with you, all you do is give.”  


“Arthur, I take a lot from you.”  


“Not as much as you might think, darlin’. And you never take what isn’t offered first. I mean, I see how much you care, sweetheart. You’re always helpin’ people in camp, helpin’ me. How many jobs you been on with me by now? More than I’d like, always worryin’ about you.” You both laugh. “Point is I see how good a person you are. It’s society who’s ugly, not you, and I can’t imagine livin’ my life without ya..”  


“Yeah, you’re definitely too good for me,” you smile into his neck, your hand gliding up to his shoulder. He kisses your head as a small laugh rumbles through him.  


Someone knocks on the door. “Arthur, let’s go!” Dutch says loudly through the door.  


“Hold on, Dutch. I’ll be down in a minute.” You hear Dutch walk away quickly. Arthur sighs. “Sorry, darlin’.”  


“It’s okay. Like you say, we need money. Who knows? Maybe Bronte isn’t pulling your leg.”  


“I ain’t gonna hold my breath.” He gets up and dresses. After he puts on his hat, he bends down to kiss you. “Don’t work too hard, sweetheart.”  


You giggle against his lips. “Try not to get shot at this time.”  


After he leaves, you dress yourself and go outside to begin your chores. You start working at Pearson’s wagon and spot Micah sitting alone at the round table. Charles passes, giving you a small wave, which you return.  


“Hey redskin,” Micah says to him. “Fetch me something to eat.”  


Charles stops and turns to him. “Excuse me?”  


“I said,” Micah gets up and takes a few steps towards him. “Go fetch me something to eat.”  


Charles grabs him by the collar and throws him on the ground. “Eat that!” he shouts and walks away. You try not to laugh, it’s rare to see Charles lose his temper, but you’re not surprised.  


Micah rubs his chin and sees you standing at the barrel, scrubbing dishes. “What you lookin’ at?”  


“Something that got put in its place.”  


He stands up, brushing off his arms. “That’s a lot comin’ from you, whore.”  


“Shut up, Micah. I already got enough reason to slit your damn throat.”  


He grins and laughs, approaching you. You stop scrubbing and put your hand on your knife blade; he doesn’t miss the movement.  


“You know, I bet you think Morgan’s a real catch, but I have it on good authority that he was seein’ that Mary the other night.”  


“Shut up, Micah.”  


“I’ve seen her before, she’s real pretty. I can see why Morgan likes her. Hell, if I was him, I’d pick her too.”  


“I said shut up, Micah!”  


“Why? Because you know I’m sayin’ the truth? He’s not the good man you think he is.”  


“Why would I believe you?” you snap.  


“Believe me, don’t believe me. I’m just telling you what I know.”  


“And how would you know he saw Mary? You were here in camp being useless.”  


He grins at you. “Javier told me. Said after they left the riverboat, Morgan had some unfinished business to attend to. What else could he mean besides his old flare?”  


You march up to him and shove him. “I’ve had enough of your damn lip, Micah. Now unless you want my blade in your throat, I suggest you get away from me.”  


He chuckles, knowing he’s striking a chord. “Ah, but I can see why Morgan’s taken a liking to you. All that fire! So he’s got Mary, the pretty one and you, the quick draw. The best of both worlds. But I bet he knows which one is better in bed.”  


You whip out your knife but Hosea intervenes before you can attack Micah. He stands between you, glaring at him. “Get out of here and do some damn work, Micah! You ain’t helpin’ by antagonizing everybody.”  


Micah lifts up his hands in a mock surrender. “Sorry, ol’ man. Didn’t mean anything by it.”  


“You come near her again, Micah,” Hosea says. “I’ll defend her for butcherin’ you.”  


Micah chuckles and walks away, a small cough escaping his lips.  


“Thanks, Hosea,” you say, sheathing your knife.  


He sighs. “He’s starting to be a problem. Been tryin’ to get in Dutch’s ear more since that mess with the O’Driscolls.”  


“I know. I just hope it doesn’t become a problem in the future.”  


“I doubt it will. Dutch is at least smart enough to not listen to him.” 

Midday comes and you’re grooming Rannoch near the bridge. The horses have undoubtedly been taken care of less since Kieran’s death. You pat his neck affectionately when you hear a wagon rolling down the path. Looking over, you see Dutch and Lenny sitting on a wagon, Arthur riding behind them on Artemis looking irritated. Dutch rubs his head as Lenny pulls the wagon to a stop.  


Hosea joins your side. “What happened?” he says.  


“Damn job was a setup,” Arthur replies, dismounting. “That trolley station had hardly any money. Not only that, Bronte set the entire police force on us!”  


Lenny gets down from the wagon while Dutch rubs his head again, looking disoriented.  


“I honestly would have been surprised if it wasn’t a setup, Dutch,” Hosea says. “I told you-”  


“I know,” Dutch snaps. “I realize what you said was true. We just need to come up with a plan.” He gets down, stumbling a bit. “We will find a way to get back at that Italian snake.”  


“Dutch, now ain’t the time to be planning on revenge, we got enough going on,” Hosea says, approaching Dutch.  


“So what? We just let that man make a fool of us? How long before he figures out we made it out and finds a new way to get us killed?”  


“Come on, Dutch. Let’s not worry about that right now.” Hosea helps him walk back over to the house. Arthur approaches your side.  


“Dutch okay?”  


“Yeah, he just got a bash on the head. I just hope he doesn’t let this idea of revenge get into his head too much. That ain’t a luxury we can afford.”  


“No. Still though, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind seeing that man get what he deserves.”  


“Me too. Well, we’ll see what Dutch decides.” He takes your hand and walks up to the house. 

The next couple of days, you remain by the house to appease Grimshaw while Arthur hops in and out of camp. He tells you about the last job with the mayor, scaring a man named Hector Fellows into funding the library for him and how the mayor tried to get him to kill his right hand man. Dutch has remained subdued, spending most of his time in his room or on the balcony. His temper is shorter than usual; he and Molly have a huge fight.  


You head back from the river towards the house, holding an orchid you found hanging from one of the trees. Arthur sits on a log near the fire, talking to Hosea. As soon as you get close, they become suspiciously quiet.  


“What you talkin’ about?” you ask.  


“Oh, nothin’, darlin’,” Arthur says, holding his arm out. You take his gesture and sit next to him. You show him the orchid and he takes it, studying it. Hosea gets up and walks to the house, coughing a little.  


“Hold it there, darlin’.” He takes out his journal and begins drawing it. You fondly watch his delicate strokes bring the drawing to life. He inspects it when he’s done, adding a few more lines of shading.  


“Here,” you say, placing the flower in his journal. He thanks you and shuts the journal with the flower inside.  


“Arthur! Get up here!” Dutch hollers from the balcony.  


“It never ends,” Arthur sighs. He grabs your hand and stands up, bringing you along to the house. He heads up the stairs towards Dutch’s room and you stop him.  


“You sure I should be coming along?” you ask. “I don’t know if I should be part of this.”  


“I want you to be, darlin’. I don’t care what it is, I want you there.” He gives you an odd smile and continues on, meeting Dutch and Hosea on the balcony.  


“Arthur, you get the deciding vote,” Dutch says, leaning on the fence.  


“About what?”  


“We take insult and scurry off like cockroaches or deal with business.”  


“We don’t need to take revenge, we hardly know the guy,” Hosea snaps from his chair.  


“This ain’t about revenge, this is about the fact that we’re about to rob a bank in his town. A bank he no doubt protects. Before we can do that, we need to put him down.”  


Dutch and Hosea argue briefly over the matter of killing Bronte as Arthur paces. You lean against the doorframe.  


“This don’t feel good, Dutch,” Hosea says as Arthur sits down in a chair.  


“Think about it, Hosea,” Dutch replies. “This is the last job we’re ever gonna pull. Before the year’s out, we’re gonna be harvesting mangoes in Tahiti!”  


“Forgive me if I don’t think about the mango harvest!” Hosea stands up.  


“Arthur!” Dutch turns to him. “Think about it.”  


Arthur stands quietly. “If it’s business, well then, business is business.”  


Dutch smiles proudly at Hosea. “Angelo Bronte stand between us and our future.”  


“You’ll damn us all.”  


Dutch glares at him before walking into the house, gesturing for Arthur to follow. You’re about to sit down with Hosea when Arthur grabs your hand. “Come on, darlin’.”  


“Why’s she comin’?” Dutch shoots back at him as he heads down the stairs.  


“Well, we killin’ Bronte now?”  


“No. Need to figure out a way to get into his mansion, I figure the swamp’s our best bet. We’re going to meet a contact I made, he might now a way in. But I ask again, why’s she comin’?”  


“Arthur, maybe I shouldn’t-” you begin.  


“No, no. I want her to come, Dutch, because she could be useful. More pairs of eyes, see?”  


“No I don’t but have it your way. Let’s just get this done with.”  


The three of you mount up on your horses and canter down the path, heading northeast.  


“Thank you for havin’ my back there,” Dutch hollers back at Arthur.  


“You better be right about this one,” he replies.  


“Quit doubtin’, Arthur, it does no favors.” Dutch pauses. “Just feels like Hosea’s lost his spine.”  


“Maybe he just doesn’t want you wasting your time on revenge, Dutch,” you say.  


“I already explained it, this ain’t about revenge! This man’s been in our path for too long, set us up with that damn trolley and, lest we forget, took young Jack? We need to hit that bank and Bronte has the entire city in his pocket.”  


“We just got a lot of pots boilin’, Dutch,” Arthur says.  


“You all seem to have forgotten how money is made! It takes a lot to support twenty people and even more to move them overseas.”  


“Is this Tahiti plan really gonna work, Dutch?”  


“You tell me, Arthur. Is it? Have some goddamn faith! When did you become so small-minded? If you’d rather we break this up, go our separate ways, just tell me.”  


“Ain’t no one sayin’ that, Dutch!”  


“Either we’re in this together and we get out together, or we’re not! I feel like I’m going in circles with all of you. Micah is the only one left with any loyalty!”  


“Now that ain’t fair, Dutch,” you call up to him. “We’re all doing our share. Maybe this is less of us having forgotten about how money’s made and more about you being rash.”  


“Stay out of this, Y/N!” Dutch snarls. “You been with us for only a few months, you don’t get a say in this.”  


“Easy, Dutch,” Arthur says. “That ain’t fair.”  


“You’re both sounding more like John. I swear that woman’s poisoning him against me. She ain’t the only one spreading poison.”  


You feel as though the jab was directed at you and are just about to respond when Arthur speaks up.  


“It ain’t like that, Dutch!”  


“If Micah were by my side, you think he’d question killing Bronte? No, he’d say ‘let’s go!’”  


“We’re here, ain’t we?” Arthur snaps. “I been at your side for twenty years!”  


“I know, I… I’m sorry, son. Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s just the endless debating is wearing me down. Everyone else I can take, but when you’re not beside me, Arthur, it hurts.”  


“I’m behind ya, Dutch. We’re all behind ya.”  


“I promise, none of the past will be in vain. Especially not them that fell.”  


By this point, you’ve ridden deep into the swamps and upon a small, rickety town set along the path. A sign barely hanging from its hinges marks it as Lagras. Dutch leads you to one of the houses and stops, warning you both to let him do the talking. He leads you to the porch of the house where a tall, thin black man sits on a rocking chair, twining a fishing lure. Dutch greets him.  


“Hello, Mr. Dutch,” he gets up, shaking his hand and smiling through several missing teeth.  


“Thomas, have you met Arthur and his girl Y/N?” You both greet him and he nods under his floppy fisherman’s hat. You notice one of his eyes is sunken in. “Thomas is quite the fisherman,” Dutch explains. We had quite the adventure the other night.” He leans against the fence and looks to Thomas. “Can I call in that favor?”  


“What do you need?” he asks.  


“Need to make a social call. You heard of Angelo Bronte?” Thomas spits over the railing. “Exactly. We were hoping you could row us in one evening around the back of his house.”  


“If anyone can, I can,” Thomas says. Arthur lights a cigarette and leans against the fence; you do the same.  


“We’ll pay for the trouble,” Dutch goes on.  


“If you’re bringin’ him trouble, won’t be no trouble for me. Now my business partner, Jules. He’s out with the skiff, I’ll need to check with him. Plus gotta check the traps. You folks mind helpin’ real quick? Shouldn’t take too long.”  


“Course not. Arthur, Y/N, come on.”  


You follow Arthur and the others down the stairs as Thomas hands you lanterns. Arthur tosses his cigarette and offers you his hand. He knows you don’t like the swamp, mostly because the alligators. You take it and walk close to him as Thomas goes from the house and the horses and towards the wide, shallow lake.  


“Be lively,” Thomas warns. “Lot of gators, big ones. Uncommon number.”  


“Great,” you reply.  


“Oh come on, Y/N,” Dutch says. “Surely it would take more than a prehistoric reptile to scare you.”  


“Maybe we just wanna see you meet your match when it comes to an ancient predator with a big mouth, Dutch,” Arthur says, squeezing your hand.  


“Arthur here is something of a comedian, Thomas,” Dutch explains as you’re lead further into soggier ground. “More of a jester than a gunslinger.”  


“If you say so, Mr. Dutch. Follow me.”  


You go further into the swamp, the thick mist clings to the trees and bats flitter above. The smell of moss, algae and standing water nearly chokes you as Thomas heads closer to the water. “Stay on the high ground,” he warns.  


“This is high ground?” Arthur asks. “Feels like water to me.”  


“Down here we can’t be too picky, Mr. Arthur.” He points out his crawfish traps up ahead. “Mr. Arthur, gimme a hand, will ya?”  


He walks into the water, beckoning the rest of you to follow. You hesitantly follow Arthur into the water, feeling the unpleasantly warm water flooding your boots. He leads you in up to your knees and stops by two wooden crates sticking out of the water. You and Dutch hold up your lanterns so they can see as they lift up the crates and search them, finding them empty. They set them back down and Arthur approaches you, grabbing your hand again.  


“Come on, got a few more this way,” Thomas says.  


“I don’t wanna know what just touched my leg,” Dutch announces, looking uncomfortable.  


Thomas leads you deeper into the water. “Mr. Dutch, you sure you’re the right fellers to be going after Mr. Bronte?”  


“He’s much more the kind of reptile I can handle.”  


“Alright, now follow my line and stay close.”  


Thomas leads you farther into the water. Through the darkness, you spot something long gliding across the water 10 yards to your right. You grip Arthur’s hand tighter and he squeezes back.  


“I can see why swamp wading hasn’t caught on as a past time,” Dutch says.  


“I love it out here,” Thomas replies. “No one out here to bother you none. ‘Cept the Night Folk sometimes.”  


You recall Arthur telling you about the Night Folk, how he helped an old Cajun man reclaim his house from them. They sounded to be about as bad as the Murfrees.  


You’re deeper in the swamp, the water up to your chest. You have to hold your lantern up above your shoulder, your other still gripped around Arthur. Your leg brushes up against something and you squeal, pushing up close against him.  


“Easy, sweetheart,” he says. “Probably just a branch or somethin’.”  


“Or a gator!” you say.  


“No, if it were a gator, you’d know,” Thomas says, continuing on. You follow him, keeping closer to Arthur.  


“Stop where you are,” Thomas says, looking ahead. Following his eyes, you see the long body of a gator gliding through the water. It ignores you and disappears into the darkness. You hope Arthur doesn’t feel you shaking beside him. Thomas deems it safe and continues on. He leads you to a small island appearing through the black mist, pointing out more traps.  


“I don’t know what’s takin’ Jules so long with that boat,” Thomas says as he and Arthur approach the traps. You and Dutch take to the island, feeling slightly more relieved to be on high ground again. Thomas begins trying to pull up a trap, but it seems intent on staying in the mud. He asks Arthur to help and the two of them pull, bringing it out with a loud squelch. The trap seems to have been smashed by something. Thomas looks surprised.  


“Guess somethin’ didn’t wanna be caught,” Arthur says.  


“Nah, only somethin’ huge could do this,” Thomas replies. “There’s been talk of a big ol’ bull around these parts, but people talk a lot of nonsense.”  


“Great. Let’s hope it bites you first, Dutch,” Arthur says, giving you a small smile.  


“Let’s just get this over with,” Dutch says beside you.  


“Alright, let’s go find Jules.” Thomas leads you back into the water up to your chest again. He suddenly stops and motions for you to do the same. Three large gators swim past, almost as though they’re fleeing the wider range of the lake.  


“There’s no shortage of them,” you say, feeling nervous.  


“Good eatin’,” Thomas says.  


“Us or them?” Dutch asks.  


“Exactly. Come on, Jules should be around here somewhere.” He pauses and looks to the three of you. “I reckon this’ll be faster if we split up. Take both sides of the lake.”  


“Alright, Arthur, Y/N,” Dutch says. “Since you both seem so at home here, why don’t you take that side?” He gestures to the end of the lake where the three gators had fled into. You swallow heavily.  


“Keep your eyes open,” Thomas warns. Arthur leads you through the water, his hand never leaving yours. You can tell he’s as nervous as you are as you approach a sliver of high ground. Arthur calls out for Jules, but no one responds.  


“Think we have to go back in the water, darlin’,” he says.  


“Okay,” you say, your voice shaking. You gather your courage and go back in as Arthur calls again. Through the gloom, a distant voice answers. Following it, a faint light begins to glimmer in the mist, high above the water. Getting closer, you see a lantern high up in a tree, a young man sitting next to it, looking distressed.  


“What you doin’ up there?” Arthur asks.  


“There’s a monster, a monster!” Jules says. You swallow, trying to calm your shaking.  


“What you see?”  


“A gator, biggest I ever saw! He’s out there.”  


“Where’s the boat, boah?”  


Jules gestures in front of him and you follow Arthur, spotting the tangled roots of a tree protruding from the water. A large black mass sits among them. You go with Arthur to it and see the boat pushed up against a large branch.  


“I got the skiff!” Arthur hollers, tugging on it. The boat doesn’t move, so you and Arthur tug on a large branch until it snaps, freeing the boat. He helps you up into it and you sigh in relief, hoping you’ll never have to come into this swamp again. Arthur sits next to you, placing a hand on your trembling knee. Thomas, Dutch and Jules approach, hopping into the boat.  


“Thank God,” Dutch says as Thomas begins rowing. He introduces your group to Jules.  


“What was you doin’ hidin’ up in that tree, boy?” Thomas asks.  


“This gator was bigger than I ever seen. Twice as angry, too.”  


The boat suddenly crashes on something, causing you to jump and latch onto Arthur’s arm.  


“Think we’re stuck on a stump,” Thomas says, looking into the water. “Jules, get us out.”  


“Me?”  


“Yeah, it won’t take a minute, boy, now go on.”  


“This is a bad idea,” Jules says, jumping into the water.  


“We’ll see any giant monster long before it gets here,” Thomas says jokingly. “We got a couple of crack gunslingers with us.”  


“You didn’t see this thing, Thomas.”  


“Neither did you, Jules, it’s just a myth.”  


Jules grabs a rope attached to the front of the boat and heads out several yards, pulling on it. The boat resists and then comes free. Jules begins making his way back when he suddenly vanishes beneath the water. Thomas calls for him but he doesn’t resurface.  


“Guess he weren’t jokin’,” Thomas says. “I’ll get him.”  


“No, no we can’t lose the boat. Arthur will get him,” Dutch says. Arthur begins to argue with him, clearly not wanting to get back in the water, but Dutch urges him in.  


“Fine,” Arthur sighs and he wades over to where Jules disappeared. 20 yards away, Jules pops up, screaming. Arthur goes to him and picks him up. You see blood trailing behind as Arthur makes his way back to the boat. Something huge and white emerges from the water a few yards behind Arthur, snapping and snarling. You whip out your pistol as Dutch screams at Arthur to hurry.  


“Shoot at it at least to pretend you care!” Arthur hollers. You begin shooting at the beast; it snaps angrily and slows down in its pursuit.  


“Don’t look behind you, Arthur!” you scream, continuing to shoot. Your heart’s pounding by the time he reaches the boat. Thomas and Dutch grab Jules and lift him up, exposing his shredded leg. You reach down and grab Arthur’s arm, helping him into the boat.  


“Y/N,” Dutch says. “Help Jules, we got company!” You follow his eyes and see a massive white alligator swimming towards the boat. Arthur and Dutch open fire on it as you pull out a long bandage strip from your satchel. The gator growls and slinks beneath the water.  


“Shit, that is one big gator!” Arthur says.  


You begin unravelling the bandage and Arthur puts a hand on your shoulder. “Let me do it, darlin’, your hands are shakin’.”  


You hand him the bandage and sit back, not denying how much you’re trembling.  


“You’re gonna be okay, son,” Arthur says, wrapping Jules leg. The boy groans painfully and you look away from his bleeding leg. “Just thank your old uncle Dutch.”  


“I heard that,” Dutch replies. Arthur ties off the bandage and applies pressure to the wound. Jules closes his eyes and falls limp, but he’s still breathing. Thomas begins rowing the boat again.  


“I’ve stopped the bleeding. Think he’ll be okay if he don’t get a fever.”  


“We can bring down a fever,” Thomas says.  


“A fever’s the least of our worries,” Dutch says, looking out across the water. The white snout of the monster gator rises up as it swims towards the boat.  


“Put everything we have in this monster!” Dutch hollers. The three of you take out your pistols and shoot at it. You can hear it snarling over the gunfire and it disappears again. Arthur sighs in relief once it becomes apparent that the beast is gone and sits down next to Jules, clapping him on the shoulder. Jules startles awake, grunting in pain.  


“You’re gonna be okay, kid,” Arthur consoles him as Thomas continues to row.  


“Sorry, Jules,” Thomas says. “Guess all them stories was true. Usually the little ones is angry, big ones is lazy.”  


“Guess this one never outgrew his anger,” Dutch says. “Kind of reminds me of you, Arthur.”  


Arthur sneers at Dutch. “I don’t think I ever seen you squeal before, Dutch.”  


“I weren’t the one squealing,” he snaps. “Besides, you shoulda seen your girl shakin’ like a leaf. Still don’t know why you brought her.”  


“Hey, I helped didn’t I?” you retort.  


“Yeah, and you weren’t the one in the water with that monster,” Arthur says. “Besides, this poor boy was nearly dinner.”  


Thomas pulls up to the dock in Lagras and calls for help. A man and a woman rush out and pull Jules out as Thomas instructs to feed him garlic and tend his wounds. He turns to Dutch and thanks him for the help. Arthur grabs your hands and leads you down the dock as Thomas and Dutch discuss the future in regards to Bronte. Dutch marches up as you mount Rannoch.  


“Alright, I’m gonna go back to camp, try and placate the irritable Ms. O’Shea, who’s causing more trouble.”  


You’re about to say something to Dutch to try and make him see reason with Molly, but Arthur shakes his head at you. Dutch kicks the Count into a canter, leading the three of you in silence back to Shady Belle. The ride is relatively quiet, but you can tell Dutch’s mind is turning.


	22. Turning of the Tides

The night after your adventure in Lagras, Dutch takes Arthur, John, Bill and Lenny out to deal with Bronte. Hosea tries desperately to change his mind, but to no avail. As the group rides out of camp, he shakes his head.  


You watch them leave, feeling worried. Bronte will surely be heavily guarded and then there’s the possibility of city cops. Grimshaw assigns you to guard duty for the afternoon.  


As you stand by the gates of Shady Belle, you listen to the forest. A horse stomps its way towards you from the direction of the house and you turn to see Molly riding a small dun horse. You can tell from her eyes she’s been crying. She and Dutch fought again when he returned last night and most of the day she drank heavily.  


“Ms. O’Shea,” you say. “What are you doing?”  


“Don’t you worry about me!” she snaps, pausing her horse. “You get to leave with Arthur whenever you want, but anyone sees me set foot out of here and everyone loses their minds!”  


“Molly, the city is dangerous right now, I really don’t think-”  


“I don’t care what you think! I’m going and you can’t stop me!” She kicks her horse into a gallop and leaves. You stare after her, worried.  


Charles approaches you, prepared to take the night shift. You hand him the repeater and go into camp. Spotting Hosea and Abigail at the table, you sit down, interrupting their conversation.  


“Molly’s leaving,” you state.  


“We know,” Hosea says sadly. “We tried talking to her, but she don’t wanna listen to us.”  


“She just needs some time,” Abigail says. “Dutch ain’t been too kind to her lately. Everyone needs a break from this place sometimes. She’ll come back.”  


The three of you fall silent for a moment. “Y/N, I’m glad you came over,” Hosea says. “Wanted to talk to you about this bank job.”  


“I didn’t think I would be involved,” you say.  


“Well, you’re not yet. But in order to do this right, we need to create a diversion away from the bank. I figure you, Abigail and myself will do that. We’ll go in, looking like city folks. I figure we plant a dud stage and set it off with dynamite.”  


Abigail chews on her lip. “We’ll have to make sure no one sees us with the dynamite.”  


“That’s easy. We’ll take the stage we stole and put dynamite inside before leaving. You two act as lookouts while I light it and we walk away before anyone figures out what we’re doing. If all goes according to plan, no one will suspect a thing and we can sneak out.”  


“I don’t know, Hosea,” you say. “Seems like a lot of our plans the past few months haven’t gone too well for us.”  


“This one will, Y/N. Just have some faith.” Hosea pats your hand and stands up. “Just think about it, hmm?”  


You nod and he leaves, lighting his pipe. Abigail stirs in her seat, almost as though searching for something to say.  


“So you and Arthur are getting pretty close?” she says.  


“Yeah. He’s, well, let’s just say when I first met him, I didn’t know how much of a romantic he was.”  


She laughs. “He’s always been like that. The carin’ sort. I just wish John…” she sighs heavily.  


“He’s getting better though, isn’t he? I’ve seen him with Jack more.”  


“He is, but I still have to talk him into it. It’s like he can’t make up his mind about the boy, and yet Jack looks up to him so.”  


“He’ll come around. John may not be the brightest man here, but he knows what’s right.”  


“I suppose. Well, I better go see to that boy.”  


She gets up and walks into the house. Javier sits by the fire with Uncle, but they’re both quiet. You see Karen stumbling about on the edges of camp, a bottle swaying from her hand. Sighing, you get up and decide to head to bed, hoping you can sleep without Arthur by your side. 

By morning, all the men except for Arthur and John returns. Lenny tells you and Abigail they stayed out after Bronte was dealt with. Dutch seems irritable, but he doesn’t seem to notice the absence of Molly. You approach him as he pours himself a cup of coffee.  


“Hello, Dutch,” you say. “I wanted to let you know that Molly-”  


“I don’t want to hear about Ms. O’Shea right now,” he grumbles. “I cannot worry about her, I got too much goin’ on.” He stomps away towards the house, stopping near Hosea.  


Midafternoon comes and Arthur and John finally return. John bids him farewell and heads off towards the gazebo where Abigail is sitting with Jack. Arthur rubs his jaw, his stubble nearly returned to normal. He sees you and walks over.  


“Hello, Y/N.”  


“Arthur. You okay? Surprised you didn’t come home last night.”  


He sighs and hides his eyes with his hat. Something is troubling him.  


“You wanna talk about it?” you ask.  


“Yeah. Yeah, maybe that would be good. Let’s go somewhere else, I don’t wanna be in this camp anymore.”  


He leads you over to the horses and you mount Rannoch, feeling worried. Arthur doesn’t speak as you walk and you don’t pressure him. He takes you in the direction of Rhodes and you recognize the familiar path leading to Clemens Point. Stopping in the clearing, you look around at the familiar area. After dismounting, he heads towards the lake, still not speaking.  


You stand next to him as he gazes out across the burning lake and take his hand. “What’s going on, honey?” you ask.  


He sighs and sits down, leaning against the large tree. You do the same, your shoulders touching.  


“Well, we got to Bronte just fine. Slippery snake tried to weasel his way out, but Dutch took him to the swamp, same place that big ol’ gator tried to get us. He killed him, but in… in a bad way.”  


He explains how Dutch had drowned Bronte and then fed him to the gators. The violence of it seems to shock him.  


“I ain’t known Dutch a long time,” you say, “but that don’t seem like him.”  


“No, it ain’t. I been with him 20 years, never seen him do nothing like that. He’s killed a lot of folk, sure. Who of us hasn’t? But feedin’ a man to a damn gator, I don’t know many people who deserve that. And it was just the way he looked at Bronte. Almost like… like he wanted what Bronte had and hated him for it. I’m not makin’ any sense.”  


“No, Arthur, you are. I’m just… It just seems like ever since that trolley job, he’s changed. Been so angry. The way he talked to you the other night. I don’t know, he’s even been lookin’ at me funny, like I made him mad or somethin’.”  


“Don’t know how you could have. You should hear the way Pearson talks about ya. Almost expectin’ him to propose to you any day now.”  


“Arthur, you pig!” you laugh and smack his arm. He chuckles and pulls you into a one-armed hug.  


“Come on, let’s go to Rhodes,” he says.  


“What for? You think it’s safe after Sean?”  


“Yeah I think so. Most people involved with that got killed and it’s been long enough. I was thinkin’ we could maybe play some black jack, have some fun.”  


“Yeah, okay.”  


You both head into Rhodes as the sun sets, relieved that no one seems to recognize Arthur. He stops in the store to buy a few things, and he tells you to find a new book. You see one titled “The Portrait of Dorian Gray”, and place it on the counter next to Arthur’s items. Nodding approvingly, he pays for it with his other things.  


Afterwards, he guides you down the street, offering you his arm. He keeps smirking at you, making you suspicious.  


"What’s going on in that mind of yours, Mr. Morgan?”  


“Nothin’. Just happy to be out here with you is all.”  


“Uh-huh,” you say, not believing a word of it. Just as you’re about to approach the front of the hotel, Arthur stops and pushes you against the wall of the building. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when his lips are on yours, his body pressed against you.  


He pulls away slowly. “Sorry, darlin’. Just… felt like I needed to do that.”  


Blushing, you giggle. “You’re funny, Arthur, but what are you doing? You can kiss me whenever you want, why now?”  


He smiles. “Like you said, I can kiss ya whenever I want.” His thumb traces your cheek gently, making your heart flutter.  


“You’re real funny, Mr. Morgan.”  


“And you’re beautiful.” He kisses you again, softer this time. He sighs and pulls away.  


“Thought we were here to play black jack?” you open your eyes, your hands on his shoulders.  


“Yes we are.” He offers you his arm again and leads you up the stairs towards the black jack table. Before you have a chance to pull out your money, he lays down your bet. As the dealer begins handing out cards, you notice Arthur’s been holding your hand since the moment you sat down. Something’s going on with him, but you’re not sure what.  


You play for nearly an hour before Arthur decides he’s done for the night. He takes you to the main floor and buys dinner. Over the meal, he’s become oddly quiet. You try to pick up a conversation, but he doesn’t seem interested. Figuring he’s just tired or worried about Dutch, you suggest getting a room for the night, to which he agrees.  


He gets up and pays for a room, beckoning for you to follow him. He leads you to a room in the back with a bed no wider than the one you share in Shady Belle. Shrugging, you sit down, Arthur next to your side. He’s still quiet and he seems to be lost in his head. You extend your hand and gently grab his face, turning it to you.  


“Just you and me here now,” you say and kiss him. He sighs and kisses you back. Your hand wanders down to his shirt and you undo the first button.  


“Not tonight, darlin’,” he says, grabbing your hand. You pull back and look into his face, which is hard and unreadable.  


“Is something wrong?” you ask.  


“No. Just… not in the mood tonight. Ya mind if we just go to sleep? Plannin’ on an early morning.”  


“Why? What’s going on tomorrow?”  


“Nothin’. I’ll explain in the mornin’. Just get some rest.”  


Something in you wants to push further, but his eyes seem sad. You nod and unlace your boots, lying down. He lies down as well and you slide into the crook of his arm. His hand rests gingerly on your shoulder, but it feels as though he’s forcing himself to tolerate your touch. 

In the morning, you wake up alone. You look around but Arthur’s nowhere to be seen. His hat’s resting on the dresser under the window. After sitting up, you grab your knees. Something about the way he was acting last night when you were alone seems strange, completely unlike him. A strange feeling settles into your stomach.  


The door opens and Arthur walks in, his hair damp. He offers you a brief and uncharacteristic good morning, which you quietly return.  


“Come on, get dressed,” he says hastily.  


“Where are we going?”  


“Huntin’ trip.”  


“Okay, but where?”  


He looks at you before answering. “West Elizabeth, I reckon.”  


He quickly leaves the room, letting you get dressed in privacy. You can’t shake off the feeling that he’s irritated with you. You try thinking back, wondering what you may have done or said, but coming up with nothing. He had been so sweet when you’d come into town, but after dinner he acted like he didn’t want you around.  


You leave the room, still conflicted and meet him by the bar. He silently beckons you to follow him out to the horses.  


“Figure we can take a stage,” he says, his voice flat.  


“You sure? Why don’t we take the train? It’ll take half the time.”  


“Because I want to,” he says quickly. He doesn’t go further as he leads you to the stage, the driver napping on his seat. Arthur dismounts and raps the carriage. “Hey!” he calls out when the driver doesn’t respond. He wakes up with a small snort.  


“Huh, what?”  


“You mind takin’ us to Strawberry?” Arthur says.  


The driver rubs his eyes and yawns. “Sure, get in. Gonna be a trip.”  


Arthur opens the stage door and gestures you inside, his face stony. Bowing your head, you climb in. Arthur takes the seat opposite of you, hiding his eyes beneath his hat. You clutch your hands as the stage begins moving; the driver urging the horses on.  


The next few hours pass in almost complete silence. The nasty feeling in your stomach has grown. You begin to wonder if Arthur is planning on ending your relationship.  


I told you, a nasty voice says. No one could ever love you.  


Leaning back, you look out the window to the passing world beyond, wishing the voice would fall silent. It doesn’t.  


He’s come to the same realization everyone eventually comes to. You’re not worth it, you’re not worthy of being loved. He’s going to break it off with you and forget this ever happened. He’s going to run back to Mary and they’ll be happy.  


A tear finds its way out of the corner of your eye and you angrily wipe it away. If Arthur notices, he says nothing. You wish he would.  


He doesn’t care about your pain, you stupid woman, that awful voice says again. No one has ever cared, why would he be any different? You were a fool for believing he loved you.  


You suddenly wish you were alone in the stage, alone to show your weakness. Arthur still sits rigidly in the seat opposite you, his eyes hidden and his hands clasped. You lean your head against the wall near the window as more tears betray you. Why is he taking you to West Elizabeth to break up with you? Why couldn’t he have done it already? You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep as the horrible voice continues to whisper to you.

Arthur shakes you awake abruptly. “We’re here,” he says in a hollow voice. You sigh and follow him out of the stage, wishing he’d just get this over with already. You wonder, as you mount Rannoch, what you will do when you get back to camp. Should you leave? That would be the wrong choice. Just because Arthur’s breaking up with you doesn’t mean you have to lose the rest of your family. The thought of losing touch with Hosea, the other girls, even Grimshaw is too painful.  


Arthur hops onto Artemis and wordlessly leads you east towards Big Valley. When the expanse of green lays ahead of you, he stops. “Figure we can hunt for a few hours,” he says. You nod, doing your best to keep your face blank. You kick Rannoch into a run without waiting for him and break out of the trees, the wind flying through your hair and the sun bathing your face. A sense of freedom comes over you as a herd of pronghorns dashes through the wildflowers. You pull Rannoch to a stop on the north end of the valley. 

Ahead of you, a large stag with proud antlers lifts his head from the river and runs towards the trees. The sight brings the memory of Arthur telling you about his strange dreams of stags, and the hollow feeling returns.  


For the next few hours, you keep your distance from Arthur, hunting the pronghorn and even a moose to keep the horrible thoughts at bay. The sun’s beginning to set behind the giant mountain on the western border of the valley and Arthur stops Artemis near you as you finish skinning a pronghorn doe.  


“Hey, let’s go to the lake,” Arthur says, leaning on his saddle horn. You look up and he offers you a small smile, his eyes bright again. You swallow and nod, your chest still heavy with doubts. After flinging the pelt across your horse, you get up and follow him down the trail into the forest.  


“You’re real quiet,” he calls back to you, turning in his saddle to see you.  


You’ve been buried in your own head and you look up to see him staring at you. Is that worry on his face?  


“Oh, yeah,” you mumble, dipping your head again. You’re convinced he doesn’t want to hear anything going on in your head anymore.  


“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he says, turning back to the trail. “I sure do like hearin’ your voice though.”  


He’s lying, the voice says. You don’t respond, patting Rannoch’s neck.  


Arthur stops on the trail, Lake Owanjilla lying ahead. The western sky has turned a brilliant pink, the ridges of the mountains burn gold. If you didn’t feel so miserable, you’d find it breathtaking.  


“Here’s a good spot,” he mutters and dismounts.  


“Here we go,” you mumble quietly so he doesn’t hear you. He leads you to the edge of the lake, hanging over the water. A clear, cold stream rushes into it on your left. You stand next to Arthur, awaiting the blow.  


“Sure is a lot of beauty in this world,” he says, looking across the lake. An owl somewhere in the trees hoots. “You helped me see that.”  


“I’ve done nothing, Arthur,” you say. You stare out across the water too.  


“You’re wrong, darlin’,” he says. He turns his body to you and you look at him. He grabs your hands and smiles softly. “Ya know, the best thing I ever done was go into that sheriff’s in Blackwater, lookin’ for bounties. It lead me to you, even if my intentions were selfish. You done so much for me since I met you, I… I don’t know where I’d be without you.”  


He places a palm on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.  


“I didn’t do anything,” you repeat, more tears leaking from your eyes.  


“You taught me what love really feels like,” he says. “With Mary, there was always somethin’ I had to do to earn her love. You give it freely, and yours is so much more pure and powerful. It’s not that I didn’t love Mary when I was younger, it’s just that with you, it don’t matter no more. I love you more than anything and I… I can’t imagine a future without you.”  


“What are you saying, Arthur?” you ask. You’d been expecting him to tell you anything other than what he’s saying now. Arthur takes his hands away and reaches into his satchel and he kneels down. Your heart stops as he shows you his upturned fist.  


“I’m askin’ you if you’ll marry me, sweetheart?” he opens his hand and shows you a ring, an emerald set into the gold band. Your knees feel shaky as you begin to cry, your heart feeling as though it might burst. Arthur sighs and stands up, hiding the ring in his fist.  


“Listen, darlin’, if you- if you don’t feel the same, I-.”  


You cut him off. “Yes, Arthur. I will marry you.”  


His face breaks into a massive smile and he grabs your hand, gently sliding it onto your finger. You stare at it for a moment before looking up at him. His own eyes seem watery and he pulls you into a tight hug, letting you bury your face into his chest, the horrible voice finally falling silent. His scent fills your nose and you breathe in deeply.  


“Thank you, darlin’,” he sniffs as he rests his cheek against your head.  


You look up and kiss him, placing your hand on his cheek. “I’ll always love you, Arthur Morgan.”  


He grips your hand and kisses the ring on your finger. “I feel like the luckiest man alive.”  


“I’m not exactly a prize, Arthur,” you joke.  


“You are to me.”  


You both watch silently as a massive eagle circles over the lake, finally dipping down to the water and plucking a fish with its talons.  


“Come on,” Arthur says, patting your back. “Let’s get a fire going.” He guides you over to a wide spot of grass and begins a fire while you set up the tent. You sit down next to him and he immediately pulls you into his lap. You smile as the big cowboy cradles your head into his neck.  


“How come you looked so miserable this mornin’, sweetheart?” he asks.  


You huff a small laugh. “Ah, you’d think it was stupid.”  


“Nah, I could never think that.”  


“Well, I thought… I thought you were going to break things off this morning. You were so distant and unlike yourself.”  


“I’m sorry, darlin’. I was scared.”  


“Scared?” you look up at him. “I could never see you scared. How many times you been shot at?”  


“This was different, darlin’,” he kisses your forehead. “I was terrified you were gonna say no.”  


You pause, trying to think of a response.  


“Why didn’t you?” he suddenly asks. “I thought after everythin’ you been through, marriage would be the last thing you’d ever want.”  


You listen to his heartbeat for a moment. “Because I love you, Arthur. It’s not that I can’t imagine a future with you, it’s just that the possibility of that future ever happening is impossible.”  


“Me too. But what I meant was why? You been married before, and we both know how awful it was. Why you willin’ to try again?”  


“This is completely different from the last time, Arthur.” You turn so your back’s against his chest. He clasps his hands on your stomach. “Last time, none of it happened with my consent. He was a complete stranger to me. This time couldn’t be more different. A chance to have something normal for once.”  


“Well, I’m glad you said yes,” he kisses your temple. “I don’t know what I woulda done if you didn’t.”  


You smile and pat his hand. As night falls properly, you cook dinner and then Arthur takes you inside the tent. He makes love to you in a way he never has before. He worships your body, every flaw, every scar, every inch, and you do the same with him, leaving no part of him untouched. 

The next morning, you wake to find Arthur sitting up and writing in his journal. You smile at him through tired eyes and roll over, placing your head in his lap. He chuckles and runs his fingers through your hair.  


“Hey, darlin’.”  


“Mm, Arthur.”  


You sit in silence, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body, his fingers causing your skin to erupt in goose bumps. After a while, he pats your shoulder.  


“We ought to get back to camp, sweetheart. Figure the others will wanna know.”  


“Know what?” you look up at him.  


He smiles, you see his slightly jagged tooth, which you secretly love. “Know your answer.”  


You sit up, still looking at him. “The others knew you were gonna ask me?”  


“Of course. Needed some advice. To be honest, when I first knew I wanted to marry you, I thought it would be too soon. We’re in a big mess right now, Pinkertons breathin’ down our necks. However, I don’t really see things gettin’ better any time soon.”  


You nod, grabbing his hand. He squeezes yours.  


“Hosea made me realize that if I felt ready to ask you, then it meant it was time.”  


You smile and lean in, kissing him. His arms loop around you, holding you close and warming you against the morning’s chill.  


“I’m glad you did. Can I admit something to you?” you say.  


“Of course, darlin’. I want ya to know you can tell me anythin’.”  


“I believed for a long time that I was gonna be alone forever. I’d never have anyone to depend on, never have someone I could trust the way I trust you.”  


He kisses your forehead. “Well, I’m glad I could prove you wrong.”  


You nuzzle into his neck, adoring the familiar scent of pine and leather that seems to emit from his skin. His hands rub your back gently and he begins to hum a tune you recognize. One of the horses snorts and you remember you can’t stay here forever, as much as you’d like to.  


“Come on, cowboy,” you pat his chest. “Like you say, they’ll be wantin’ to hear.”  


The two of you pack up camp quickly after a brief breakfast and some coffee. You ask Arthur if he wants to take the stage back to Saint Denis or Rhodes, but he says he wants to just ride back on the horses.  


“That’ll take almost the whole day,” you say.  


“I know, but it gives me the chance to be alone with you a little longer.”  


You can’t help but smile, riding side by side with him. You adore the soft core he hides beneath his tough exterior.  


It’s late afternoon by the time you see the trees surrounding the path that leads to Shady Belle. You pat Rannoch, he and Artemis are heavily laden with game and pelts that you’ve hunted on your way down.  


“Who’s there?” Javier calls.  


“Just us,” Arthur replies. He hitches up and you do the same. Just as you’re about to grab the pelts from Rannoch, three figures walk towards you. Dutch, Hosea, and Grimshaw march your way, looking as though they’ve just shared a joke.  


“Well?” Dutch raises his arms expectantly. Arthur steps beside you, staring at them.  


“Are we to call you Mrs. Morgan now?” Hosea asks, a proud smile stretched across his face.  


You blush and grab Arthur’s hand. “Well, I suppose. We’re not married yet though.”  


Grimshaw puts her hands on her hips and marches over to you. Expecting her to start yelling for disappearing again, you await her blow. Instead, she quickly grabs your left hand.  


“I wanna make sure this man’s done right by you,” she says, inspecting the ring on your finger. She seems to approve and releases your hand, smiling. “You done good, Mr. Morgan.”  


“Thank you, Miss Grimshaw.”  


Dutch chuckles deeply and turns back to camp.  


“Everyone. Everyone!” he hollers. Several of the gang come up to hear what he has to say. Arthur hooks your hand around his arm. You feel nervous, never having accepted compliments well.  


“Tonight is a night for celebration! Arthur and Y/N are going to be married!”  


Mary-Beth and Tilly clap, laughing loudly, Karen hollers out excitedly. Several of the men announce their congratulations, coming up to clap you and Arthur on the back. It makes you blush.  


“Well, let’s celebrate properly then!” Uncle says, going to sit down by the fire. “Javier! Come play us somethin’!”  


Despite being on guard duty, Javier complies. He sits down by the fire, his guitar in hand. “I know just the one to play tonight.”  


Lenny and Mary-Beth grab you and Arthur, guiding you to the big log directly in front of the fire. You sit down, your hand still looped around Arthur’s arm as Javier tests a few strings. He finally clears his throat and begins playing. You recognize the first notes of the song you had sung for the gang back in Clemens Point, The Sweetheart Tree. It makes you smile wider as Arthur rocks gently back and forth.  


When the song’s over, Jack runs over with strings of flowers in his hand. “I made these for you and Uncle Arthur!” he says, holding up the flower necklaces. Arthur chuckles and takes them, thanking him and putting one over himself and the other around your neck. Jack smiles proudly. “So she’s gonna be my aunt?”  


“That’s right, kid,” Arthur says as he drapes an arm around your shoulder. Jack gives a small “yippee” and skips off. Arthur kisses your temple and gets up, heading off to Pearson’s wagon where several boxes of alcohol have been laid out. He’s immediately swarmed by Lenny, John, Bill and Karen. Hosea sits down close to you as Javier finishes his song. Grimshaw takes a seat, along with Mary-Beth.  


“I’m real proud of you,” Hosea says, lighting his pipe. “Must have taken a lot of courage to say yes, after your last marriage.”  


You smile and look into the fire. “It didn’t, actually. I wasn’t scared when he asked me. Surprised, but not scared.”  


“Ah, you two were meant to be,” Mary-Beth says breathily.  


“It’ll be good for him,” Grimshaw says. “Hopefully you can help him settle down a little. Give him something to keep him centered.”  


“Oh, I doubt even I’ll be able to tame him,” you chortle. “Always been a man of the wild.”  


Javier and Uncle pick up a song together and several of the others come over to join in. Hosea looks at you with a clever gleam in his eye.  


“You ready for tomorrow?” he asks.  


“What’s tomorrow?”  


“The big bank job in town.”  


“That’s tomorrow?” you say, a little louder than you had meant.  


“Ah, must have forgotten to tell you. Sorry about that. Anyways, you, me and Abigail will take the stage coach ahead of the others and plant it a few blocks from the bank. You’ll need to wear something nice, make you look like an upper class lady.”  


“Okay,” you say. You’ll have to ask one of the other girls if you can borrow something, not having any dresses aside from the one you wore to that awful party at the mayor’s mansion.  


Dutch walks over, attracted by the mention of the bank job. “Now Hosea, before you get too excited about this, we need to smooth out the plan. Got a few wrinkles in it that are worryin’ me.”  


“We will tomorrow, Dutch. Let us enjoy this night. Like you said, we’re celebratin’.”  


As Javier begins playing a new tune, you look fondly over at Hosea. You call his attention.  


“I know it might not be for a while,” you say as he looks at you. “But you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a proper father. Would… would you walk me down the aisle when Arthur and I get married?”  


He smiles widely. “It would be my honor, Y/N.”  


You grin at him, thanking him.  


The party lasts for several hours. You and Arthur are forced to tell the story of how he asked multiple times. Some of the members, mainly Karen, Bill and Pearson drink themselves to the point of passing out. Arthur brings you a bottle of Caribbean rum, which you’ve never tried before. After half a bottle, you feel it getting to your head. You and Tilly both drunkenly try to play Domino with poor results. Lenny stands by the table, laughing as you drop a tile and try unsuccessfully to pick it up. Arthur stumbles over and screams, “Leeennaaaaaaayyyyy!”  


“Oh God, Arthur!” Lenny hollers back. “Not again!”  


Arthur guffaws as he stands next to you, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand. You give up on the tile and stand up, draping your arms over his shoulders.  


“Think…” you hiccup. “Think it’s time for bed, Mr. Morgan. I ain’t seen straight for an hour.”  


“Okay, Mrs. Morgan,” he slurs, bending down to kiss you. You grab his hand and lead him towards the house, bidding the others good night. The walk seems much harder than usual as you and Arthur stumble over one another. When you’re finally in the house, he starts grabbing you, making you laugh.  


“Room first,” you mumble. By the time you get upstairs and into your room, he practically rips your clothes off. You don’t even make it to the bed as Arthur lays you down, kissing every inch of skin he can reach. You rip his shirt open, glad to find he neglected to put on his union suit this morning as you run your fingers through his chest hair. He growls and nips your shoulder. As you reach down to remove his gun belt, you hear him mumble.  


“I love you, Y/N Morgan. Lord knows how much I love you.” 

You wake up with a terrible hangover. Arthur groans next to you on the floor, rubbing his head.  


“God, I wanna die,” he mumbles.  


“Me too. Why’d we drink so much?” you say. You’re about to roll over to kiss him when he shoots up, drapes a blanket around his hips and runs out on the balcony. You hear him retching so you heave yourself to your feet, dressing. Arthur comes back in, wiping his mouth clean, and begins to dress as well.  


“Come on, cowboy,” you grab his hand. “Let’s try clearing our heads.”  


You both stumble down the stairs, still holding hands. You wince as the morning sun hits your eyes. Arthur leads you over to the fire and pours you a coffee. The hot drink seems to do little to clear the headache and your stomach clenches painfully. You throw out your coffee and dash to the river just in time to vomit what’s left of the alcohol in your system.  


Arthur walks up behind you, finishing his drink. When you stand up straight, he pulls you into his arms.  


“I gotta go speak with Dutch and Hosea, figure out this bank job,” he says. You nod into his chest, your head still pounding. He guides you back over to Pearson’s wagon, grabbing you a canteen of water. You greedily drink as much as you can, then he does the same.  


As Arthur heads to the house where Dutch and Hosea are talking, you head over to the crates where the other girls sit. You feel a little better as you sit down, picking up some sewing.  


“So you two gonna get married quickly or you gonna be engaged a while?” Karen asks, her eyes bloodshot. She looks worse than you feel.  


“I don’t know. We ain’t talked about it yet.”  


“What about kids?” Tilly asks. “You gonna try havin’ ‘em as soon as you’re married or wait?”  


This question causes you to pause. Arthur’s the only one who knows you’re barren. You’re not in the mood to disclose that to the others just yet.  


“We’re probably gonna wait. Who knows what our situation might be like for the next little while? Ain’t the best idea to have kids until we know it’s a good time.”  


“Well, be prepared for a lot of hard work,” Abigail says as she walks over with her coffee. “Much as I love my boy, it’s a thankless job.”  


“Ain’t that sort of the point?” you ask. “I mean, why’s a kid gotta be grateful to his parents just for bein’ born? Ain’t like they asked for it.”  


“Still,” she says. “You’d think after all I done for him, he’d at least be grateful.”  


“Kids ain’t supposed to be grateful,” you say, returning to your sewing. “And they don’t see the world that way. I’m not sayin’ you should spoil the boy or make his life difficult, but it ain’t fair of you to expect so much from him, as much as you’d like him to.”  


“You ain’t got kids,” Abigail finishes her coffee. “You don’t understand.” She walks away, muttering something beneath her breath.  


The next few hours, you do chores around camp and your head clears. Hosea approaches you and Abigail in the middle of the day, suggesting you get ready. She heads off without a word; you ask one of the girls if you can borrow a dress. Arthur comes into the room just as you’re changing.  


“You ready for this, darlin’?” he asks.  


“Guess as much as I’ll ever be. Does Dutch know what he wants to do after this?”  


“I dunno, he keeps talking about goin’ to Tahiti or Australia. I honestly don’t know the appeal of either one of ‘em, but I guess the Pinkertons won’t find us there.”  


“What about heading back west like he talked about?”  


Sighing, he sits down. “I don’t think that’s happenin’, darlin’. Wherever the train goes, the Pinkertons can get us.”  


He begins changing into a suit you’ve never seen before. He tucks a blue puff tie into his patterned blue vest.  


“Where’d you get that, Arthur? The suit?”  


“Oh, Trelawney made me buy it for that river boat job. Do I look okay?” He fidgets with the buttons of his coat sleeve. You walk up and adjust his tie, smiling.  


“You look very handsome. Not at all like some country man.”  


“Well, I hope not. Now you know what to do?”  


You swallow and nod. “Yes, once we set off the dynamite, Hosea’s gonna take us to the north end of Saint Denis, we’ll grab a wagon and meet you all back here.”  


“Hopefully, much richer than we are now,” he smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “You be careful out there, darlin’. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”  


“Nothing’s gonna happen to me. But promise me you’ll be careful? You’re guaranteed to be getting shot at.”  


“Awe, I’ll be fine. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Micah will get shot.”  


You giggle and push him out the door. “Don’t get my hopes up.”  


As you walk outside, Dutch calls to Arthur. “You got everything?”  


“Think so,” he says, straightening his sleeve.  


“So,” Hosea says as he climbs onto the stage. You and Abigail get into the back. “We rob ourselves a bank and within six weeks, we’re living life anew a tropical idyll spending the last of our days as banana farmers?”  


“Exactly,” Dutch says from the back of the Count. Arthur, John, Micah, Lenny and Javier mount their horses as Bill and Charles sit on one of the wagons.  


“Let’s get out of this godforsaken place and go rob ourselves a bank!” Hosea yells out. The others holler and agree, Micah forces his horse to rear up. You suddenly get a flashback of Bison Point when Dutch and so many of the others had left in much the same manner to rob the ferry. A bad feeling settles into your stomach.  


Hosea whips the horses and the stage charges out to the front of the line, causing you and Abigail to sway inside.  


“This is it, gentlemen!” Dutch calls out behind the stage. “The very last one!”  


“Where have we heard that one before?” John responds.  


“What has happened to you, John? You lost all your heart.”  


“I’m just trying to stay real about this.”  


“‘Real’. How I detest that word,” Dutch says. “So devoid of imagination!”  


“How soon we shippin’ out?” Micah asks.  


Dutch begins talking about how he has a plan to get a boat organized and go down to South America.  


“What about the money in Blackwater?” Micah demands.  


“Forget that, it’s gone!” Dutch hollers. “You all talk like it’s the only goddamn money in the world. We’re gonna take it from the people who take it from us. This is a big city bank!”  


“Right,” John shoots back. “With guards, security, police.”  


“Hosea has done his reconnaissance, we’ve been over this.” He goes over the plan again, sounding frustrated yet determined. By the time he’s done, the stage is passing Calliga Hall.  


“Hosea!” Dutch calls. “You know the drill. Any problems, meet us back in camp!”  


Hosea whips the horses on, the stage speeds up and drives into the city. Hosea guides it carefully down the cobbled streets, navigating around other wagons and riders. He stops it on a narrow street a few blocks from the bank. You and Abigail get out as he climbs down.  


“Alright, ladies,” he says quietly, clapping his hands. “Each of you stand on one end of the stage, keep an eye out while I light her up.”  


You walk with him towards the back of the stage and stand on the sidewalk, looking around for potential witnesses. Hosea reaches into the back lockbox and pulls out a tied bundle of dynamite. He quickly places it inside the stage.  


“Hold on,” you say, spotting a man and woman walking across the street at the end of it. Hosea pauses and watches them. Luckily, they take no notice of your party and walk on, disappearing around the building. “Okay, clear.”  


“We’re good on this end, Hosea,” Abigail says.  


“Alright, act quickly, ladies. Once I light this thing, we only have a few seconds to get down that alley and be gone.” He gestures to the alley between the two buildings the stage sits in front of.  


“We’re ready, Hosea,” you say.  


He lights a match and touches it to the wick, which begins sparking.  


“Now!” Hosea whispers. You and Abigail hastily follow him down the alley, trying to get away from the stage as quickly as possible without looking suspicious. As you reach the center of it, the stage explodes, the rubble clattering around the street. It’s immediately followed by screams, yells, horses neighing, a whistle blows.  


“Ladies, I think we’re done here,” Hosea says. He ushers you both down the alley in front of him, heading down towards the other street. You’re hoping the others are having as much luck as you when someone painfully grabs your arm. You’re suddenly slammed into the brick wall and Agent Milton, the Pinkerton, points the barrel of his pistol inches from your face. You hear Abigail get pushed into the wall and look over to see Ross pinning her. Several other Pinkerton agents and policemen stand behind him.  


Hosea lifts his hands, shocked, and is about to speak when Milton interrupts him. “Mr. Matthews! We received word you and your gang of delinquents would be here, but we doubted you’d really be so foolish to rob the bank. Looks like our informant was right.”  


“Mr. Milton,” Hosea says, his eyes sparkling cleverly. “We have no business here other than to enjoy the day in this lovely city.”  


“And the fact that you just left the street where a wagon exploded is nothing more than a mere coincidence? I doubt that.”  


Hosea takes a step towards him. “Mr. Milton, we’ve no quarrel with you. We are on the verge of leaving, we’ll never be your problem again after today.”  


“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Mr. Matthews! I’ve given you all how many chances to go and live as better men, but you’ve done nothing but laugh in my face.”  


Milton pushes his hand against your throat, pulling the hammer of his pistol down. You grab his hand on your throat, Arthur’s ring glinting on your finger as Milton’s finger twitches on the trigger.  


“Wait!” Hosea says, stepping close to him. “Take me, not her. Give her and the other girl a five minute head start, I’ll go with you quietly.”  


“Hosea, no!” you choke.  


“Quiet, Y/N!” he says, not breaking eye contact with Milton.  


“You’ll show me where the others are?” Milton demands. “No lies?”  


“No lies. Just promise me you’ll let these two have a chance.”  


Milton hesitates. His finger brushes against the trigger, his hand on your throat tightens painfully. Finally, he lifts the hammer and points the gun at Hosea.  


“You heard the man, Ross. Let the girl go.”  


Hosea sighs heavily and keeps his hands up as Milton approaches him. He grabs him by the collar and points the barrel at his head, standing behind him. Milton glares at you.  


“We had a deal, Ms. Y/L/N. You have five minutes, don’t think I won’t try to find you.”  


“Hosea, no!” you scream as Abigail grabs your hand and yanks you away. You try fighting her off.  


“Get out of here, Y/N!” Hosea calls. “You have a wedding to attend!”  


“No!”  


Abigail wrenches your arm painfully as she pulls you down the street. “He’ll be fine, Y/N,” she hollers back at you, sounding hysterical. “Hosea always finds a way out.”  


You run with her, trying to keep the tears at bay. You look back and find the Pinkertons gone, along with Hosea, although a few policemen mill about, screaming at one another.  


Abigail leads you over a few blocks. You don’t pay attention to where she’s taking you, all you know is you’re farther from the bank than before. Just as you hope that Arthur and the others will be okay, you hear a faint gunshot. The sound brings you to a halt and you turn in its direction, a horrible feeling in your gut. The air is suddenly filled with the cracks of guns from the distance, echoing off the buildings. The city has turned to chaos.  


You’re just about to charge into the street in the direction of the fight when Abigail grabs your shoulders, pulling you back. A wagon with a policeman standing behind a gatling gun roars past you, the wheel nearly catching your dress.  


“We need to get out of here!” Abigail yells as policemen and Pinkertons flood the streets. One of the Pinkertons points to the pair of you, whipping his gun out. Your five minutes are up. Abigail yelps and grabs your hand, dashing off down a thin alley just as the Pinkerton shoots his gun at you, the bullet plunges into the brick wall of a building. The alley winds and leads into a small plaza, a broken fountain sitting in the middle. You see not too far beyond the next street, which is swarming with more policemen as the gunshots continue to ring out.  


“I don’t think we can get out!” you scream at Abigail over the blasts. “We should hide! One of the buildings.”  


Without thinking, you dash over to a door facing the plaza, kicking it open. An elderly black woman screams, falling backwards onto her kitchen floor. Abigail slams the door shut after you, slightly dulling the ringing of gunfire. The woman doesn’t move and you bend down, trying to wake her, thinking she fainted. She doesn’t respond and you feel her throat, finding no pulse. She must have suffered a heart attack.  


You and Abigail quickly inspect the house, finding too many windows for your comfort at the front of it. The back where the old lady died only has one window, a narrow staircase leads to the upper floor.  


“Should we go up there?” you whisper. The gunfire still echoes through the city outside.  


“No, we might get trapped,” Abigail says. “Let’s just stay here in the kitchen, it’s blocked from the front of the house.”  


“Help me move her then,” you say, gesturing to the old woman. You both pick her up and lay her on a couch in the front room. She looks as though she could be napping. Heading back into the kitchen, you both sit on the floor and away from the single window, praying no one will find you.

Several hours have passed, the gun shots have finally stopped. The city lies dark and unusually quiet except for the splashing of the torrential downpour. You would have left the city by now, except constant patrols of Pinkertons and policemen roam the streets. You and Abigail have been checking the front windows overlooking the street every half hour or so, finding no citizens or anyone else. The city must be on lockdown, meaning the others must be in it still. You pray for the thousandth time that everyone’s alright and you’ll see them in a day or two back at Shady Belle.  


While waiting, you and Abigail raided the old woman’s closets to find new clothes. You slip on a pair of trousers that look as though they belonged to a teenage boy.  


Abigail comes back from checking the front. “Think this is as quiet as it’s gonna get tonight, let’s try sneakin’ out now.”  


You sigh and nod. “Sure, this rain should help cover us.”  


You sit up, shaking your leg, which has fallen asleep. Once it’s steady, you open the back door leading to the small plaza with the broken fountain. You sneak out, hunching slightly and letting the rain soak you. The plaza’s clear. Just as you’re about to make a break for the other side, something big slams into you. Abigail covers your mouth just as you scream. You both look over and see a familiar face.  


“Charles!” you hiss. “What happened?!”  


“I’ll explain later,” he mutters. “We need to get out of here. Follow me.” Without another word, he guides you out of the alley and onto the street. He checks constantly as he runs slowly down the street. Through the rain, the form of a wagon appears, two horses patiently hitched to it. You see the words “Saint Denis Police” painted on the side. You point it out to Charles and the three of you run towards it.  


Charles opens the door and looks inside, finding nothing but a police man’s hat and coat in it. He’s about to put them on when you slap his shoulder.  


“Let me drive us out of here. You’re too recognizable.”  


Charles nods and you put on the coat, tucking your hair in underneath the hat. He and Abigail get into the carriage, slamming the door shut. Climbing up, you pray this will work. You click and flick the reins, trotting the horses on. Looking down at your feet, you spot a rifle. You hope you won’t have to use it as you navigate your way down the street.  


You spot several policemen and a few groups of Pinkertons wandering the streets, yelling to one another over the rain. One officer beckons to you.  


“You find anything?” he hollers.  


Putting on your best masculine voice, you respond. “Nothing!”  


He nods and continues on his way. You drive onto the large street near the train tracks, passing another police carriage. You sigh heavily as you drive down the bridge, heading away from the city. Once you’re off the bridge, you bring the carriage to a stop and hop down, ripping off the coat and hat. Charles and Abigail get out and you all decide it’s best to travel on foot back to camp.  


For the next hour, Charles leads you through the swamp. He doesn’t say a word about the events that transpired, nor do you and Abigail ask. The rain begins to let up just as Shady Belle comes into view.  


“Charles!” Karen yells, holding the repeater as she keeps guard. “What the hell happened?”  


Charles beckons her to follow as you and Abigail go into camp. Grimshaw, Sadie and the others come into the middle of camp, greeting him expectantly.  


“Mr. Smith,” Grimshaw demands. “What has happened? We were expecting you all back hours ago! Where are the others?”  


Charles shakes his head sadly. He looks around. Everyone’s staring at him, worried expressions on their faces.  


“Hosea and Lenny are dead. The others found their way onto a boat. I… I don’t know if they’ll be coming back.”


	23. Hell's Gate

Warnings: swearing, blood, murder, angst  


Word count: ~10,300

Your stomach drops painfully at Charles’s words. Hosea. Lenny. Dead? The others on a boat to God knows where, the question of if and when they return hanging in the air.  


“What exactly happened?” Sadie asks, stepping towards Charles as the others gasp and begin to murmur.  


Charles recounts the story of how Hosea’s distraction worked and they got into the bank just fine. He then says how just as everything seemed to be going to plan, the Pinkertons showed up with Hosea and shot him in the street. The story brings tears to your eyes. Charles goes on to say how they shot their way to the rooftops, where Lenny was cornered and shot and how John was captured by policemen.  


“Arthur refused to leave him until we knew Lenny was gone,” Charles says sadly. He explains how they found their way into an abandoned building and waited until nightfall, where he lured Pinkertons away from a boat so the others could sneak on.  


“I was just making my way back when I ran into Y/N and Abigail,” he finishes.  


The others look at one another before Grimshaw marches over to you and Abigail.  


“You were with Hosea before the Pinkertons found him. How did you get away and he didn’t?”  


You sniff, tears cascading down your cheeks. “He… he sacrificed himself for us.” Your voice breaks and you put your face in your hands. Abigail places a hand on your shoulder and tells the others what happened. Everyone stares at the pair of you quietly as she finishes.  


“What do we do now?” Tilly asks. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us, too.”  


No one seems to have an answer until Sadie steps forward. “We’re gonna find somewhere else. Grimshaw, Pearson, get everything packed up and ready to move out. In a day or two, Swanson and I will go in Saint Denis, find Hosea’s and Lenny’s bodies. Give ‘em a proper burial.”  


“I’ll go, too,” you say, finally composing yourself.  


“No,” Sadie says. “You’re too easily recognizable. You stay here and help pack things up.”  


“And what about if they come back and come here lookin’ for us?” Mary-Beth says.  


“We should write a letter,” Pearson says. “But code it so that if someone else finds it, they won’t know where we are. When I was in the Navy, we sent and received messages like that constantly.”  


The others agree and Grimshaw begins barking orders at the others, telling them to get packed up. When she reaches you, she pauses.  


“Focus on Arthur’s room, dear. I think you’ll be the most use in there.”  


You nod gratefully and go up to your room. You’re just about to pick up a wooden box to throw in Arthur’s photos when a wave of exhaustion hits you. Despite the pain and fear in your chest, you lay down and fall into a dreamless sleep. 

You’re awoken by someone knocking sharply on the door. Grimshaw storms in just as you rub your eyes and sit up.  


“Ms. Y/L/N! We need to be packin’ up!” she snaps.  


“Sorry, Miss Grimshaw. Just… just needed to lie down a moment.” You don’t look at her, your heart heavy. She visibly relaxes and sits down next to you.  


“He’ll be alright. They’ll all be fine. I’m sure they’ll all come back, probably in some rough shape, but they’ll be fine.”  


You nod, clasping your hands. “I’ve no doubt about that.”  


She puts a hand on your shoulder. “I know, Y/N. I miss Hosea too. There ain’t a word for how sad I am.”  


You nod, your eyes tearing up again. “He… he was gonna walk me down the aisle on my wedding day.”  


“I know, I know. I’ve no doubt that when you do finally have your day, he’ll be there with ya.”  


You wipe your cheeks dry and nod. “Thanks, Susan. I’ll pack up.”  


“Good girl. I’ll bring ya some coffee.” She stands up and leaves. You stand and see Arthur’s hat, sitting on the ammo crates. You grab it and put it on your head. A moment later, Grimshaw returns as you’re packing up the wooden box with a cup. You thank her and take a drink.  


“Any idea where we’re going?” you ask.  


“Strauss says he knows a place up north in the swamps. Place called Lakay.”  


“Never heard of it.”  


“He seems to be the only one who has. Anyways, sounds like most people are scared of the place. Charles is doing a reconnaissance trip up there, he should be back soon.”  


Over the next few hours, you finish packing up your room and then help Tilly pack up Dutch’s room. You open the nightstand and find a brush, the bristles woven with red strands of hair.  


“Has anyone seen Molly since she left?” you ask.  


“No one’s seen her,” Tilly says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she just decided to leave, way Dutch was treatin’ her.”  


“Yeah,” you say quietly, an odd feeling creeping into your gut.  


By the end of the night, the majority of camp’s packed up. Charles returns and reports that the village of Lakay is inhabited by what the people in Lagras call Night Folk. He and Sadie decide to go and chase them out in order to claim the place.  


“What about Hosea and Lenny?” you ask as Sadie hops up on her horse.  


“We’ll get ‘em, Y/N,” Sadie says. “When we know the city’s calmed down, we’ll get ‘em. Pearson also helped me write a letter in case anyone comes back lookin’ for us.”  


You nod and the two run off ahead. You climb up on the wagon Hosea usually drives, sitting next to Karen, who holds a whiskey bottle in her hand. She takes a swig just as you flick the reins and follow the wagon driven by Pearson and Susan.  


You look behind you, watching the old mansion fading into the darkness, hoping that the others will return safely. 

The eastern horizon is just beginning to lighten when Sadie and Charles returns, meeting up with the train, announcing that the Night Folk have been driven out of Lakay. They guide the train through the thick swamps until, through the fog, a miserable looking village comprised of three mossy buildings comes into view. It sits on the edge of the massive lake you recognize from when you and Arthur had gone with Dutch to discuss Bronte. The wagons stop, further cramping the small area. Pearson and Grimshaw inspect the small buildings, declaring the largest to be the main area for everyone to settle down in. Despite it being the largest, everyone’s still nearly on top of each other as they claim a sleeping spot. You take your bedroll from Rannoch and lay it out near the back of the building. You don’t bother to unpack Arthur’s possessions; there’s hardly enough room for them.  


By midday, most of what can be unpacked has been. Pearson and Grimshaw gather everyone in the middle of the village. They tell everyone that camp will function as normally as possible, but it will not move until it has been determined whether or not Dutch and the others will return. Pearson reminds everyone that hunting needs to be done in order to keep everyone fed.

The next few days move in a haze of confusion and mourning. The entire camp’s sedated with the loss of Hosea and Lenny. The conversations of whether or not Dutch and the others will return circles constantly around. Abigail’s unreachable, worried about John in prison.  


Sadie and Swanson, who has surprisingly become clean of alcohol and morphine, sneak into Saint Denis three days after the camp arrived in Lakay. They return hours later, stating they managed to get the bodies buried properly just north of the city. They bring along the horses that got left behind, making you smile for the first time in days at the sight of Artemis.  


Every few days, someone will go into town to find out as much as they can about the situation. Little news is brought back. You, Charles and Abigail are banned from the city by Grimshaw since you were directly involved in the bank heist.  


Despite your determination to stay as involved in the camp as you can, you find yourself becoming distant. You crave the quiet hours you spend alone hunting or fishing with Rannoch. You’ve become heavily attached to the horse, nearly as much as you were with Rain. Sometimes, you take Artemis out to hunt in order to stretch her legs. Every time you return from a hunt, you force yourself to keep company with the others. It seems that without Hosea and Dutch, there isn’t much stitching camp together.  


Sadie has come into her element. She takes over assigning tasks and even helps find new, small scores in order to keep money flowing in.  


You sit in camp one morning, feeling frustrated. You had tried to leave early to go off hunting with Artemis, but Grimshaw has become irritated with the lack of your presence in camp again. She knows you’re in mourning and that hunting has become your way to deal with it, but she asks you spend the day in camp.  


Sadie sits down next to you, a rifle drawn behind your back. She smiles at you, and you try to return it without much success.  


“How you holdin’ up?” she asks. You simply shrug your shoulders. She sits quietly for a moment.  


“I’m real happy for you, despite this whole mess,” she says.  


“Happy? What for?”  


“You’re gettin’ married!”  


You furrow your brow, returning to your sewing. “Well, that’s as long as he comes back.” You look at the ring on your finger, a constant reminder of him.  


“He will. He’s got you to come back to. Arthur, he’s a wonderful man. He and Dutch helped me when I needed it most.”  


You finally smile. “Yeah, seems like that’s what they do for lost souls like you and I. Even so, you happy you fell in with this bunch?”  


“If it weren’t for Dutch, Arthur, all of you, I’d be dead,” she says. “And you all been real kind to me. Mm, that reminds me. I been trackin’ signs of them O’Driscoll bastards. Looks like some of ‘em have found their way up to north New Hanover.”  


“Ah, so while I been huntin’ game, you been huntin’ O’Driscolls.”  


“Exactly. If you ever wanted to come with me, you could.”  


“I might just take you up on that offer. I been wantin’ to murder them all since they tried to use Arthur as bait.”  


Sadie grabs your knee. “We all got reasons to want ‘em dead, Y/N. You and I are some of the only ones to actually get after ‘em.”  


You pause and look at your ring again. “You think they’d want this, though?”  


“Who?”  


“Jake? Arthur? He always says revenge is a fool’s game.”  


“That might be Arthur’s philosophy, but it ain’t mine,” Sadie snarls. “Those bastards took more from me than just my husband. If we don’t do somethin’, how many more women they gonna turn into widows? How long before they try to use Arthur or one of the others as bait again? I doubt they’ll make the same mistake of lettin’ ‘em get away alive a second time.”  


You clench your jaw and nod, knowing she’s right. Killing O’Driscolls, hunting Colm, won’t be about revenge but prevention. You and Sadie are only two of his countless victims. 

Three weeks have gone by since the camp has taken over Lakay. Still no word has come about Dutch, Arthur or any of the others. The only news to come from the city is that John is still in prison, and there’s word he may be hung. Pinkertons have been spotted still searching the area surrounding Saint Denis. Abigail’s become irritable and angry, you and Sadie try to think up a plan to get him out but each one has more holes in it than the last.  


You’ve become angry and irritable yourself. You miss Hosea, along with everybody else, but more than anything you miss Arthur. You struggle to sleep most nights, unused to being alone. You miss your hunting trips with him, his laugh, the way he blushes when you tell him how handsome you think he is. The way he talks to the others, his jokes, the way his mere presence demands respect, how he holds you, kisses you, touches you. You channel your anger and frustration into hunting O’Driscolls with Sadie, although there’s few leads to go off of.  


You return in the morning with Sadie, having spent the night tracking a party of O’Driscolls north of Emerald Ranch. You inspect the gold locket you had taken from one of them after you had shot him, a photo of an attractive young woman inside it. You hope she finds someone better than the scum you killed.  


Grimshaw glares at you as you and Sadie dismount. She doesn’t approve of how much you aren’t in camp, but each trip you either bring back food or money, so she never says anything about it. You throw the locket into the donation box and head towards the main cabin, wanting to get some sleep. You walk in and are immediately greeted by Abigail yelling at everyone who’s sitting inside. Jack’s crying in the corner and Uncle’s yelling back at her.  


You sigh and close the door, deciding you’re not that tired after all. Pearson, standing next to his table, sighs. He looks over at you.  


“We could use more fish, Y/N,” he says. You look at his table and see three rabbits and a slab of deer on his table. He doesn’t really need meat. You smile appreciatively.  


“Sure. At least you didn’t invite me to go crawfish hunting.”  


He chuckles and goes back to skinning one of the rabbits. You wander over to the shallow lake, sitting down on a rock against a thick tree you’ve frequently used. You lean against the trunk, sighing and quickly inspect the area for gators. You swipe at a swarm of mosquitoes hovering in front of you.  


After a while, you give up on napping and get out your pole. For the next few hours, you pull fish from the shallow lake, occasionally losing one to a greedy gator. You decide to take a break, collapsing your pole and sitting on the rock again. You lean your elbows on your knees, setting your chin on your hands. A tear leaks from your eye; you feel incredibly lonely. You wonder for the millionth time how things have gotten so bad.  


A wave of anger suddenly hits you and you grab a rock, standing up and throw it as hard as you can into the green water.  


“Keep doin’ that and them gators are gonna hop out to get ya,” a painfully familiar voice says.  


You turn and see Arthur walking towards you. His face, neck and arms are heavily sunburnt, his beard thick and his white shirt sticks to his body. You feel the air leave your body, almost as though you’ve been holding in your breath for a long time.  


“Arthur?” you gasp.  


He smiles and closes the gap between you, folding you into his arms. Pain rips through your chest as the sobs come and you lose what little control you have left. You gently touch his cheek, inspecting his blue eyes.  


“Arthur!” you say again through watery eyes.  


“That’s right, darlin’. I’m back. I came back to ya.”  


You smile at him. “I think this is yours.” You take off his hat, which you’ve been wearing since the bank job. You put it on his head as he grins at you.  


“Still think it looks better on you, darlin.”  


You close what little space is left between you, pulling him into a tight hug. He holds you so close, he nearly crushes you, but you don’t care. All you know is the man you love, the man who has saved you time and time again, is finally back in your arms where he belongs. He buries his face into your neck as you take in his scent. He smells like salt and sweat, but you swear you can still detect a hint of pine and leather.  


After a few moments, he releases you, but you don’t take your hands away from each other.  


“When did you get back?”  


“Just a few minutes ago,” he says. He gestures to the rock you were sitting on and sits down, pulling you into his lap. You rest your head against his chest, listening to his comforting heartbeat as he tells you his story.  


He begins with the bank robbery. You cry when he tells about Hosea and Lenny. He describes how they snuck onto a boat, which sank and dumped them on an island called Guarma. You listen quietly as he talks about how they were captured, enslaved and saved by a man named Hercule, who they helped liberate the island. The way he describes Guarma, it sounds like hell and you tell him so.  


“You ain’t wrong, darlin’. If Tahiti’s anything like Guarma, I don’t think I’ll be goin’.” You laugh as he finishes his story about freeing the island. His eyes suddenly go dark.  


“What is it?”  


He purses his lips beneath his thick beard. “It’s Dutch. He’s… he’s different. When we went to get Javier, he strangled this old woman. Said she was gonna betray us but I think all she wanted was more money. Not only that, he seemed to like it. I don’t know, he ain’t himself.”  


You grab his hand, rubbing your thumb across it.  


“He’s been different for a while, honey.”  


“I know, but he keeps killin’ folk. I just hope he don’t get worse.”  


You sigh and kiss his hand. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat. I’d say it’s the first proper meal you’ve had in weeks, but it’s just Pearson’s stew.”  


He chuckles as he gets to his feet. The two of you head into the crowded cabin just as it begins to rain lightly. The others greet you both fondly as you make him sit down and grab a plate of stew. When he’s done, you lead him over to the corner where you’ve set your things. He changes into his black shirt and red leather vest.  


“Hey,” you say, grabbing his shoulder. “You need a shave, cowboy. Let me.”  


He smiles as you take his hand and lead him outside, sitting him down in a chair. You lather up his face and carefully begin scraping his face lightly, trying to be gentle on his burnt skin. He sighs happily.  


“Don’t enjoy this too much,” you tease, wiping the blade clean and returning to his face.  


“Why not?” he grins. “I missed you somethin’ terrible.”  


You wipe the blade clean for the last time and he grabs your hand, kissing your palm.  


“I missed you too, Arthur.”  


“God damn it,” a voice snarls behind you. You whip around and see Micah, looking greasy and sunburnt. “Just when I was starting to enjoy the peace and quiet of not havin’ lovesick Morgan.”  


“Fuck off, Micah!” you snarl, gripping the blade you’d just used. Arthur stands up and grabs your wrist as Micah raises his hands.  


“Ooh, sorry. Guess I won’t be getting an invitation to the wedding.” He sneers at you and heads into the cabin.  


“Can I kill him yet?” you hiss. Arthur chuckles and puts an arm around your shoulders.  


“Not just yet. Well, maybe. Come on, you look exhausted, darlin’. You been sleepin’?”  


You look back at him and shrug your shoulders. “It’s been hard in that cabin with everyone on top of each other. Not only that, seems like someone’s always fighting.”  


“Well come on, then,” he says. He heads over to the empty cabin that’s being used for storage. He inspects the single small room and takes one of the canvases that’s usually used as a canopy. He ties it between two beams, creating a hammock. After removing his boots, he swings into it and gestures for you to come to him. You smile and remove your boots, carefully climbing onto him. He sighs as you settle down against his chest, your eyes immediately feeling droopy. With the swinging of the hammock and his fingers combing through your hair, sleep comes easily. 

Arthur pats you awake gently and you yawn, still nuzzled into his neck. He chuckles when you snuggle into him again.  


“Sweetheart, let’s go check on the others. Come on.” He helps you get out of the hammock and you both go back to the main cabin through the downpour of rain. You see Micah laying in a hammock tied next to Uncle’s while Javier eats a bowl of stew. You wave to him, happy to see he’s in relatively good condition, despite having been shot in the leg in Guarma.  


The front door of the cabin swings open and Dutch walks in, looking wild in the rain. He smiles proudly as everyone greets him gratefully. You smile, despite the doubts festering in your mind. Arthur waves to him, his other hand around your waist.  


“How’d you folks find each other?” Dutch laughs as he walks in. “What happened?”  


Strauss explains how Sadie and Charles cleared the place of Night Folk.  


“Mrs. Adler, we owe you.”  


She smiles humbly from her seat on one of the crates. The others cheer and lift their glasses to her, you included.  


“It’s been real hard, Dutch,” Tilly says desperately. “We been survivin’, but only just. What we gonna do?”  


“Things have been tough,” he replies. “Ain’t no doubt about that. I am gonna get us out of here.”  


“Ain’t none of you folks interested in our adventures?” Micah says, stepping out from behind Dutch.  


“Guess we’re more interested in escapin’ the hangmen on our tail,” Abigail snaps.  


“Cheerful nymph of the prairie, wasn’t you, Abigail?”  


“Oh sure, my heart jumps for joy when I set eyes on you, Micah.” Micah laughs nastily as Abigail approaches Dutch and hands him a mug of coffee. “We buried Hosea, Dutch. Sadie and Swanson stole his body from the law one night and gave him a proper burial. It was real nice.”  


You recall the funeral, it had been nice. Painful, but nice. You had taken a long hunting trip afterwards.  


The front door swings open and Bill stomps in. “Well here you is! I asked everyone I could find and eventually someone knew. Said you fools were out here.” He glares at Sadie. 

“Get me a drink or somethin’!”  


“Get your own damn drink!” she snarls.  


“In our absence,” Dutch interrupts. “Mrs. Adler has been looking after things. Now sit down!”  


Just as Bill does, a horribly familiar voice hollers from outside.  


“This is Agent Milton with the Pinkerton Detective Agency! On behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, we are here to arrest you!”  


Arthur walks towards the window looking out to the front. “They got a gatling gun!” he hisses to Dutch. “Everybody get down!” he yells. You and the rest slam into the ground as gunshots fire through the cabin. Arthur begins crawling to the back towards Sadie. You’re about to follow him when he drapes an arm across your back, stopping you.  


“Stay here and look after the others!”  


“Arthur, come on!” Sadie calls to him.  


He continues on as a lantern explodes on the wall. He and Sadie disappear out the back in the direction of the lake as shots continue to rip through the cabin.  


“Asked everybody you could find, didn’t ya Bill?” Micah roars.  


“Shut up, Micah!” you yell.  


For the next few moments, bullets ring through, screams intermixing with the bangs. You and Dutch holler at the others until the rapid gunfire suddenly moves in a different direction. The Pinkertons begin yelling at each other.  


“Get out there, all of you!” Dutch demands, pointing to you, Bill, Micah and a few others. You hop up, grabbing a rifle hanging from the wall and burst out of the cabin, shooting a Pinkerton in the chest. The wind roars around you, the rain dripping off your hat as you hide behind a few crates and shoot at another agent. Arthur hops onto the wagon with the gatling gun and opens fire on them. After a few moments, the few remaining Pinkertons flee into the swamp.  


Arthur hops off the wagon and spots you, hiding behind the crate.  


“I told you to stay inside!” he growls, approaching you.  


“Dutch told me to help and so I did. I can handle a gun just fine, Arthur.”  


He shakes his head but doesn’t argue as Dutch walks out of the cabin, holstering his pistol. “You saved us, Arthur.”  


“Well, me, Sadie and Y/N here.”  


“It’ll take time for them to regroup,” Dutch continues. He orders Grimshaw and Pearson to begin packing up. Sadie, Micah and Abigail approach him as you lean against the wagon next to Arthur. Dutch tosses out a few more orders and places his hands on the wagon, looking drained.  


“What next, Dutch?” Arthur asks.  


“I just need some time. We can’t go west, there ain’t no more south or east, so we’re gonna have to go north I guess. I just need somebody to buy me some goddamn time!” he pounds the wagon.  


“You’ll figure it out, boss, you always do,” Micah simpers.  


“What are we gonna do about John, Dutch?” Abigail demands as he turns around.  


“We’ll get him, just not-not yet.”  


“There’s talk of hangin’ him!”  


“It’s not gonna come to that!” He starts walking away and Abigail calls after him. “Not now, miss, not now!”  


Abigail desperately turns to you, Arthur and Sadie. “I’m beggin’ you three. He’s… They’re gonna hang him. It would break my--the boy’s heart. Please do something.”  


“We will,” Sadie consoles her.  


Abigail nods and walks away, wringing her hands. Sadie looks at you and Arthur. “Okay, I’m gonna go figure out how we rescue this bastard. You two meet me at Doyle’s Tavern in Saint Denis.”  


“No, I will meet you there. Alone,” Arthur says, beckoning between him and Sadie. It’s clear he wants you to stay back. He seems to be even more protective of you than before.  


“I’m going with you whether you like it or not, Arthur. Sadie and I did plenty of things like this while you were gone.”  


“She’s a good gun, Arthur. Besides, we don’t know exactly what we’re headin’ into.”  


“A’right, fine, guess I can’t stop you anyways.”  


Sadie nods at you and walks away, adjusting her gun belt.  


Arthur looks at you. “What you mean you been doin’ plenty of things while I been away?”  


“Oh,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist as you walk back towards the wagon. “We just been huntin’ down some O’Driscolls.”  


“What! Why the hell-”  


“Arthur, relax! We knew what we were doing.”  


“I don’t care,” he stops you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “There ain’t no point in goin’ after them. It ain’t gonna change the past.”  


“I know, Arthur, but we can prevent them from destroying lives in the future.”  


“With that line of thinkin’, you might as well kill every person in this camp, darlin’. We killed and robbed just as much as they have.”  


You sigh and look down. “I know, Arthur. But you and the others around here don’t go rapin’ women and killin’ their husbands for sport. We don’t go capturing their men in order to bait the others into a trap to turn them in and run off to Mexico.”  


“No, but we’ve all killed indiscriminately. We’ve all ruined people’s lives.”  


“Arthur, please. Don’t tell me you hate the idea of killing O’Driscolls too. Besides, it was a way for me to deal with… losing you and Hosea.”  


Arthur sighs and pauses. “I know, darlin’. I miss him, too. I understand why you did that, but please don’t do it anymore. They already almost got you, I don’t know what I’d do if they succeed.”  


“Okay,” you say. You stretch up on your toes and kiss him. 

The rest of the night, everyone works together to get camped packed up, although no one knows where you’re moving to. Dutch sits on the deck of the empty cabin, muttering to himself. By early morning, everything’s nearly packed up, but Arthur grabs you and decides it’s time to meet Sadie, figuring this is the perfect opportunity to slip away and discover John’s situation.  


When you reach town, he stops at the hotel, wanting to take a bath. You decide to wait on the street, having only bathed the day before. You lean on a pillar outside the hotel doors, reading a newspaper. Glancing up, you spot someone you recognize and a sour taste enters your mouth: Mary Linton. She walks down the street towards you, completely unaware of your glare. You fold the newspaper without taking your eyes off her.  


Arthur walks out, adjusting his hat. “A’right, darlin’.”  


“Arthur!” Mary calls to him. He looks up and his face pales.  


“Mary?”  


“Oh, Arthur,” she says, approaching you both, her eyes only on him. “Arthur, I’ve missed you. I’ve been hoping to run into you again.”  


“Oh I’ve no doubt, surely with some wretched job involving your daddy or foolish brother,” he growls at her.  


Her brow furrows as she takes a step back from him. “Arthur, I never wanted you around just to help me with things. I never made you choose your way of life!”  


“No, but you didn’t mind its benefits, did you? And when it no longer suited ya, you wanted nothin’ more than to see me swing.”  


“That is not true, Arthur! I loved you, I still love-”  


“Enough!” You finally spit, stepping between them and glowering at her.  


“Excuse me, ma’am,” she says. “I am trying to talk-”  


“You are talking to my future husband, Mary!”  


She pauses and you lift your hand, showing Arthur’s ring.  


“Your… your future husband?”  


Arthur puts his hands on your shoulders and gently pushes you aside. “That’s right, Mary. I told you last time I saw ya that I couldn’t be with ya anymore, that I found somethin’ else. She’s what I meant. And for the record, she’s never threatened to turn me in or have me hung.”  


Mary’s breathing in hard. “Probably because she’s as wanted as you are, Mr. Morgan.”  


Before Arthur has a chance to react, you step forward and slap her hard in the face. Her head twists down from the blow and she grabs her cheek as people on the street turn to see the commotion. “You ever come near him again,” you whisper. “I’ll put you in the ground, ya hear?”  


Arthur puts his hands on your shoulders and tries pushing you to the side again, but Mary straightens up and stares at him. “Good bye, Arthur.”  


She walks away quickly, the onlookers go back to what they were doing before.  


“What the hell was that?” Arthur says as you both mount up on your horses. “Ya didn’t have to hit her, darlin’.”  


“I know,” you sigh, “but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good, Arthur.”  


“Well, if we run into her again, please do me a favor and let me tell her to leave me be. Don’t think it’s wise of you to go around smackin’ people in the middle of a city.”  


“Arthur, I doubt either of us will ever see her again. If she’s smart, she’ll run off and marry some other dumb bastard.”  


He chuckles and leads you through the streets towards the poor side where the tavern is that Sadie mentioned.  


You hitch up and walk in with him, his hand wrapped around yours. Sadie’s nowhere to be found, so he approaches the bar and leans against it. You throw down a few quarters and the barman puts down two bottles of beer. Juts as you’re about to take a drink, Arthur stops you.  


“I wouldn’t drink anythin’ from this place. Helped this guy rid it of rats once. Plus, that artist we met some time ago shat on his bar.”  


“What?” you say incredulously, lowering your bottle.  


Arthur chuckles. “Yes, said it was better than what he serves. Don’t quite know what he meant, but I wouldn’t touch it.”  


You set the bottle down with a grimace just as Sadie walks in from the back room.  


“Any problems comin’ in?” she asks  


“Nah,” Arthur responds.  


“Well, guess they know we ain’t in the city.”  


“Who? Mr. Milton’s friends?”  


“They’ve had patrols out in the city since you boys left. Poor Y/N and Abigail were banned by Grimshaw to come.”  


“Trust me when I say I ain’t missed it,” you smile.  


Sadie smiles but then becomes serious. “What happened in-”  


“Guarma?” Arthur says, leaning his hip on the bar. “Nothin’ nice.”  


“What happened to Dutch? Cause he seems...”  


“I don’t know. Seems as what happened in Blackwater began happening years ago, maybe. A slow decline, I guess.”  


He began walking to the door, you and Sadie following somberly. She and Arthur began discussing what happened here on your end while they were gone, the parts you managed to skip anyways.  


“Just a shame about Hosea and Lenny,” she says, hopping up onto her horse.  


“Yeah, saw all that,” he sighs. You pat Rannoch and mount up, following them as Sadie takes the lead and heads to the north end of Saint Denis.  


“So what’s your plan?” you holler up to Sadie.  


“Figure we need to see how John’s bein’ held over there, so we’ll need a high enough vantage point to get a proper look.”  


“How you plannin’ on doin’ that? It’s on an island. Unless you’re plannin’ on learnin’ to fly,” Arthur says.  


“That’s exactly what we’re doin’. I found us a hot air balloon. Now the pilot, he just thinks we’re in for a lesson, a tour. He’s a character, think you’ll like him.”  


“I gotta say,” Arthur says. “I’m impressed with you both. Really stepped things up while we was gone.”  


“More Sadie than me.”  


“Yeah, except we woulda starved if it weren’t for you, Y/N. And we didn’t know if you was comin’ back.”  


Sadie begins describing how badly things have gone in camp. Karen’s become fully dependent on alcohol, Strauss is constantly on edge and Grimshaw’s more irritable than ever. The only upside is that Swanson has cleaned himself up, hasn’t touched his morphine or whiskey in weeks. She also describes how you and her have been hunting O’Driscolls.  


“Sounds like you two been busy,” he says as you ride across the bridge. Up ahead in the grass, a massive red and white balloon points lazily into the sky, tied to a large basket. A stout man sits inside, moving things about.  


You dismount after Arthur shoulders two rifles and as Sadie calls, “Mr. Bullard!”  


A stout man straightens up and adjusts his goggles, a leather helmet covering his head. “Ah, Mrs. Adler! Good to see you!”  


“This is my friend, the one takin’ the tour,” she gestures to Arthur. “Mr. Morgan.”  


“Ah, yes!” he says, offering his hand to Arthur. “Arturo Bullard, at your service, sir.” He sees you and offers his hand as well, which you take. “And you must be?”  


“Y/N Morgan.”  


“Ah! Lovely couple you make,” he smiles. He turns back to Arthur. “It’s a fresh day for flying, sir. A day like today and Icarus would have made it across the sea.”  


He begins moving Arthur towards the balloon.”You ever flown before, sir?” Arthur shakes his head. “Ah, it’s quite a thing. Well, hop in.”  


“Ain’t they comin’?” he asks, gesturing to you and Sadie.  


“Oh no, women can’t fly sir. Does horrible things to their vapors. I thought everyone knew that. Why, delicate flowers like your wife and Mrs. Adler, heavens above!”  


Sadie chuckles and spits to the side. Arthur looks back at you and furrows his brow. “Well, I want her to come,” he points to you. “We… we just got married, ya see, I want her to enjoy this. Think it’d be a treat.”  


“But Mr. Morgan, surely you don’t want her to become ill? I’d hate for her to do so soon after-”  


“I insist on it, Mr. Bullard,” Arthur says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You want a happy customer, don’t ya?”  


Bullard sighs but gives in. Arthur guides you to the basket and you try to hide your shaking. You’ve always been afraid of heights. He must be too if he’s demanding you come with him. Resolving yourself, you get into the basket and Arthur climbs in after you. The basket’s quite tight and you plant yourself against him, dreading going up.  


“You sure about this?” Arthur asks, pressing a hand to your back.  


“Absolutely certain. Mrs. Adler! Wish us luck. Now don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, I’ve only crashed twice.” He claps Arthur on the shoulders happily.  


Bullard guides Arthur on how to operate the balloon and after a moment, Arthur pulls on the lever and the basket lifts. Sadie bids you farewell as she shrinks. Bullard begins commenting on the cloud cover and wind currents, but you ignore him as the tops of the trees drift down beneath your feet. You cling tighter to Arthur, your heart pumping.  


“Now, Mrs. Morgan, please don’t blame me when you fall ill,” Bullard says.  


“I feel fine,” you say, “just don’t like heights is all.”  


“Well, I feel I should mention the subject of ablutions. Liquids over the sides, solids do your utmost to levee the situation. I had a client who once fell ill to a rotten oyster on the ascend. A decidedly harrowing experience for all involved.”  


Despite how nervous you are, you giggle into Arthur’s shirt. The basket drifts high above the city, nearly touching the clouds.  


“It really is stunning up there, you’ll have seen nothing like it,” Bullard says. Arthur pulls the lever further, the fire above flares and the basket lifts into the clouds. A fine mist covers you, chilling you slightly until the basket breaks over the clouds, dazzling you as the sun bathes the cottony surface.  


“Heavenly. Quite remarkable, isn’t it?” Bullard comments.  


The basket begins to drop back through the clouds once more and you see slight hints of the wide Lannahasee River below.  


“I’m surprised you haven’t fallen ill yet, Mrs. Morgan, although I’m appreciative you haven’t.”  


“Think you’ll find my wife’s full of surprises.”  


You smile at Bullard and then gaze around, astounded by the vast flatness of the swamps and the city far below. In the far off distance, you see the tiny, snowy mountains of New Hanover. Arthur’s hand adjusts on your back and you gaze up front with him. Below, a miniature train travels out of the city.  


“Did you and Mrs. Morgan breakfast in the city this morning?”  


“Hmm, not exactly,” he says.  


“Well, I have a boiled egg in my pocket that either of you are perfectly welcome to.”  


You turn him down kindly. Arthur speaks up. “I think I’m a’right, recalling the ablutions discussion.”  


The next few moments pass in relative silence as Arthur guides the balloon across the river. An island comes into view out of the mist, a large building sitting on it.  


“If I may ask, what interested you in the pursuit of aviation, Mr. Morgan?”  


“I didn’t. Mrs. Adler thought she’d surprise me.”  


“Ah, no shrinking violet. Along with your missus, I must say. I had thought by now she’d have fallen terribly ill.”  


“Like I said, she’s full of surprises. Mrs. Adler is as well.”  


“I prefer more feminine attire on a lady, if you will forgive me, Mrs. Morgan,” Bullard says, gesturing to your button down shirt and jeans. “But variety is the very spice of life, as they say.”  


Arthur guides the balloon further to the island and the building on it becomes more pronounced. You can see now that it’s surrounded by fields, a few trees speckle the island.  


“That building is Sisika Penitentiary,” Bullard explains. “We shouldn’t fly too near to it though.”  


“Sorry, we’re goin’ in for a closer look,” Arthur says, guiding the balloon further.  


“What do you mean? Mr. Morgan, this is most irregular!”  


“Like I said, you wanna happy customer, don’t ya?”  


“Look this isn’t funny now. I let your wife on board, against my better judgement, but what on earth are you doing?”  


“My wife’s doin’ just fine! Ain’t that right, darlin’?”  


You’re leaning over a bit, having gained more confidence now that you’re not nearly as high above the ground as before. You smile at Bullard. “I feel just fine, Arturo. Ain’t gotta worry about me.”  


“Even so!” Bullard continues, getting hysterical. “The guards are bound to spot us!”  


“Calm down,” Arthur says. “They won’t care if we stay high enough. I’m just lookin’ for a friend of mine. Poor bastard has a habit of bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got himself workin’ on a chain gang.”  


Arthur lowers the balloon further above the island and the wind suddenly dies down. The balloon sinks considerably until the it’s only about 100 feet away from the ground. Arthur asks Bullard to take over and he pulls out his binoculars. You take out yours as well and you begin scanning the fields, looking for anyone who looks like John.  


After a few moments, Arthur points out ahead of him. “Think I see him.”  


Without warning, a shot rings out towards the balloon and a bell begins tolling rapidly. Bullard panics and ducks down in the basket. “Ascend! Ascend!”  


Arthur grabs the lever and pulls as hard as he can and the wind picks up. The balloon shoots up into the sky as more guards begin shooting. You clasp onto Arthur again; your stomach seems to have been left behind.  


“This is absolutely insane!” Bullard complains as the wind begins blowing you in a north western direction. “Good grief, I’m shaking like a leaf!”  


“We’re in the clear now, Mr. Bullard,” Arthur says. “You can get up.” He pats your back and you remove yourself from him, sighing.  


“Good Lord, my heart is pounding! The specifics of this job were not disclosed to me!”  


“Well, it’s done now,” Arthur says.  


For the next short while, the wind continues carrying you on up the river. Bullard finally calms himself and pulls out a short telescope, inspecting the land ahead where a small town sits on the river’s edge.  


“Ah, there’s Annesburg,” he says. “Good Lord, is that Mrs. Adler? I think she’s being chased!”  


Arthur pulls out his binoculars again and looks ahead. You peer to the main street and see someone on horseback running from several others.  


“Yeah, that’s her,” Arthur growls. “Mr. Bullard, try and get us nearer. I’ll deal with these fools.”  


“I think they’re O’Driscolls, Arthur,” you say, having pulled out your binoculars. Arthur grabs a rifle and loads it. You yank the other one off his back and aim it down to the group of men.  


“I was starting to rather enjoy this,” Bullard says, pulling on the lever. You and Arthur ready your rifles. Sadie comes into view from behind the buildings and you both open fire on the O’Driscolls chasing her.  


“Just in time!” Sadie hollers. Arthur pauses to reload.  


“Mrs. Adler has a lot to answer for!” Bullard declares.  


“Yes she does,” Arthur says as you shoot a rider in the head. “What was she thinkin’ messin’ with O’Driscolls right now!”  


“I think I might need to adjust my fee!” Bullard says.  


“Come on, Arthur!” Sadie screams.  


“Just ride, we’ll deal with them!” He takes down another O’Driscoll.  


“Yes! Show them, Mr. Morgan!” Bullard says excitedly. You shoot another one and he cheers. “I had no idea your wife was such a marksman!”  


A shot fires up in your direction and Bullard grunts loudly. “Good grief!” You look back at him and see a scarlet circle growing over his yellow coat. “I think I’ve been-” Another shot strikes him and he falls limp, his body falling over the side.  


“Shit!” Arthur yells. “Y/N, take over the balloon!”  


You reach up and grab the lever, pulling on it slightly as Arthur shoots more of the riders.  


“Sadie! Grab the rope!” Arthur yells as he throws one to dangle out of the basket. You lift the balloon further to avoid colliding into a bridge.  


“I can’t reach it!” she shrieks. You allow the balloon to drift down and Sadie jumps from her horse and onto it. Arthur begins pulling her up when a bullet suddenly rips through the balloon. The hole is small, but just as you pull the lever to lift it more, a strong gust of wind catches it and rips it further. Arthur yanks Sadie into the basket and looks up, seeing the massive tear.  


“I think we’re gonna crash,” he says as the balloon begins plummeting towards a river.  


“You got a real habit of stating the obvious,” you say, still pulling on the useless lever. The balloon lands on the water but skips across the river, finally smashing into the bank and throwing you and the others heavily onto the hardened mud.  


“You break your necks?” Sadie says.  


“Ah, not quite. Maybe,” Arthur groans, rubbing the back of his head. More shots suddenly ring out from across the river. The three of you launch to your feet and find cover behind some boulders, aiming your rifles at them.  


“You can’t leave it for one day?!” Arthur shouts at Sadie as he opens fire.  


“Just kill these sons of bitches!”  


The three of you continue to fire on them. Most of the pursuing O’Driscolls fall into the river until the boulder next to your hand explodes.  


“They’re coming at us from behind!” you yell. You all take new positions, meeting them head on. The forest comes alive with gunshots and yells as the O’Driscolls shoot and die.  


“You fuckers, I’ll kill you all!” Sadie shrieks.  


The few O’Driscolls left alive turn tail and run as Sadie throws taunts at them. You rejoin her and Arthur marches over.  


“The hell is wrong with you? I only left you an hour ago! You can’t stay out of trouble for one goddamn hour? And you got that poor bastard killed for his troubles, I kinda liked him!”  


“They got Colm!” Sadie says. “The government, they got Colm O’Driscoll. They’re gonna hang him in Saint Denis.”  


“Okay,” Arthur says, turning away. “Let ‘em deal with him.”  


“Nuh-ugh!” Sadie stops him. “He’s already been tried twice for murder and found guilty.”  


“Sure, and no doubt he’ll escape again!”  


“No he won’t, ‘cause we’re gonna make sure of it.”  


“We have our own problems with the law right now,” you say, siding with Arthur. As much as you’d love to see Colm swing, now isn’t the time to worry about him.  


“Dutch’ll wanna see him swing,” Sadie responds.  


Arthur huffs. “Dutch. He wouldn’t even help us with Marston! And our situation is really messed up right now. You know how things is.”  


“That bastard’s gonna swing, I’m gonna make sure of it.”  


“Yeah, and closely followed by Marston!” Arthur hollers.  


“You saw him?”  


“Yeah, we did,” you say. “In the fields.”  


“Okay,” Sadie puts her hand on her hip. “Then let’s go rescue him. We can manage rescuin’ him from the fields.”  


“It’s well guarded,” Arthur argues.  


“Guarded, sure, but not behind bars.”  


Arthur pauses and rubs his chin. “No, he’s not behind bars.”  


Sadie smiles proudly and whistles for her horse. “So we’ll bust him from his work detail. It’s best just the three of us go.”  


Arthur chuckles. “Three of us is all there is, anyhow.”  


“Good. I’ll get us a little boat. Then we’ll sneak in and get him out of there. Thank you, Arthur!” she mounts up on her horse.  


“Whatever you say, boss,” Arthur says, walking towards you.  


“I heard that!” she yells as she rides away.  


“Goddamn it,” he mutters as he stands next to you.  


“Hey,” you say, putting your hand on his arm. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We can get John out.”  


“I know, but Dutch ain’t gonna be happy.”  


“Who cares what Dutch thinks? He obviously doesn’t care what happens to John.”  


“I know, just wish things were different. Come on, we need to get back to camp, see if we’ve found a new place to move yet.”  


You both whistle for your horses. Rannoch snorts in greeting as you climb into the saddle. On the way back to camp, you and Arthur talk little. He seems distracted, and you dread returning to Lakay. The way things have been going, you doubt anything good has happened over the day.  


Arthur stops at the border of New Hanover and Lemoyne and sets up camp since neither of you have slept in the past 24 hours. 

In the morning, you both journey back to Lakay. Grimshaw and Pearson are raging at everyone since everything is packed up but they’ve hit a dead end. Grimshaw immediately tackles you, setting you on Pearson to help make what little food he can. You see Arthur marching over to the other cabin where Dutch still sits on the deck and muttering to himself. Charles comes and sits on some nearby crates, sharpening his knife. He’s shaved the sides of his head, the remainder of his hair tied back in a braid. You wonder what inspired him to do so.  


A few moments later, Arthur approaches him and says something. You can tell by the way Charles stands and checks his sawed-off they’re about to go do something. You wipe your hands on your jeans and run over to them.  


“You guys gonna find a new camping spot?”  


“Sure,” Arthur says. He looks at you, almost as though he’s worried. He puts a hand on you shoulder. “Listen, sweetheart, I know ya wanna come, but do me a favor and stay here. They need ya.”  


“Okay,” you say slowly. It’s been a long time since he’s asked you to stay behind. Arthur kisses you gently before following Charles over to the horses.  


Dutch marches down from the cabin. He’s back to looking like himself, his hair and beard trimmed.  


“Alright, everyone. We’ll be moving to our new camp tonight, so finish packing and get some rest.”  


You and Pearson finish cooking while the last few crates and barrels are loaded into wagons and the horses are fed. Despite having slept through most of the night, you crawl into your bedroll and manage to fall asleep quickly. 

Night falls and you climb into a wagon to drive next to Grimshaw. Pearson and Sadie drives the third while Micah sits with Dutch where Hosea once sat. For some reason, this gives you a bad feeling. Dutch announces you’re travelling north into New Hanover to a place not far from Annesburg in Roanoke Valley. The name sounds horribly familiar for some odd reason. You try to recall where you’ve heard the name before. Dutch whips the horses and the train sets off, illuminated by the moonlight.  


You’re glad to be leaving the muggy swamps, glad to go somewhere the water won’t have gators lurking beneath the surface. During the trip, little discussion is traded. Swanson reads aloud from the bible in the back of your wagon. Grimshaw, irritable, smokes a cigarette beside you but she says nothing.  


The land begins to change as you head further north. The mossy trees and slimy ground has vanished, replaced by thick grass and tall, broad leafy trees. A fast moving, winding river burbles happily. The trails become windy as they edge the river.  


The horizon’s fading into a soft light blue when the train hits a small village set on a cliff’s edge above the river. Skinny, mangy dogs wander, searching for anything to eat while fly-infested goats watch the train. The few people that are out are bone thin with strange growths on their limbs and faces. They look at you and the others with odd, glassy eyes. Something about the village seems sick.  


The train continues on just as the sun rises. Now that you can see better, you’re beginning to recognize the forest. It seems terribly familiar. Up ahead, a smaller trail forks to the left, down towards the river. A doe bursts from the hill on the right side of the main path, just like it had been on that horrible day. Your heart begins pumping as you look up the hill and you know that on top of it lies what is left of Rain’s body.  


“Give me those reins, Y/N,” Grimshaw snaps, grabbing them from you and making you jump. “The way you’re driving, we’ll end up in the river.”  


She guides the wagon down the left path and you begin to breathe heavily. The forest has become thick, the ground strewn with old leaves. You close your eyes, willing it to just be a dream, for you to be imagining things. The wagon lurches to a stop and you crack your eyes open enough to climb off it.  


You stand with your back to the river, the rest of the view blocked by the wagon. Swallowing heavily, you resign yourself and make your way around to the back of the wagon. Swanson hands you a box with some of Pearson’s cooking supplies. Adjusting it, you head out the main view of the camp and the box slips from your hands.  


Before you lies the wide mouth of a cavern. Near it lies a cage with a mutilated body, and on the other side is the horrible shrine made of dismembered people jammed together. The last time you had seen it had been in your nightmares, the hands coming alive and reaching for you. Someone’s screaming in your ear.  


“Ms. Y/L/N!” A voice shouts. “Quit dawdling and get to work!”  


You don’t respond, you can’t respond. Your eyes can’t leave the horrible scene lying before you.  


“No,” you mumble, tears flooding your eyes. “No!”  


“What did you say?” Grimshaw stands in front of you, looking angry. “Get to work before I get my hands on you, girl!”  


“No!” you scream and you bolt backwards, immediately crashing into a firm body. You don’t know who it is, but that someone wraps their arms around you tightly. You bury your face into his chest, trembling.  


“Ms. Grimshaw, let me handle her,” Arthur says, his voice rumbling through your body. You clutch him tighter upon realizing it’s him. You clasp your hand over your exposed ear, planting the other directly over his heart. Grimshaw says something.  


“I know, but please Susan, let me. I’ll take care of her.”  


Without warning, Arthur picks you up and carries you off, away from the cavern and down to the river. He sits down on the bank and sets you beside him. Your hands are still over your ears and you begin rocking back and forth, shaking. He gently grabs your shaking hands and lowers them as the tears begin falling.  


“It’s okay, darlin’,” he says, dipping his tin cup into the river and offering it to you.  


“Arthur,” your voice shakes. “That’s…. That’s…”  


“I know, darlin’. I didn’t want us to set up here either, knowin’ what those monsters did to ya. But unfortunately this is the best place for us right now. Everyone’s so terrified of it not even the police will come this way. We’ve got a good shot the Pinkertons won’t follow us here.”  


“Arthur, I don’t wanna be here!” you say through the tears.  


“I know, I know. I promise we won’t be here very long. They’re gonna get them bodies cleaned up.”  


He shoves the cup into your hand and puts a hand on your back, his fingertips running up and down as he tries to calm you. After a while, you take a sip but it’s all you can manage. Arthur takes the cup from you and then pulls you into his lap. He rests his chin on your forehead as he rocks you gently and you listen to his heartbeat.  


It’s late morning by the time you finally compose yourself. You start to pull yourself from Arthur’s hold, feeling ashamed of your childish behavior.  


“I… I’m sorry, Arthur,” you sniff, running a hand through your hair.  


“Don’t be, darlin’. I don’t blame ya for hatin’ the place. Like I said, we won’t be here more than a couple of weeks. Just long enough to shake off the Pinkertons and give Dutch time to figure out where we’ll be goin’.”  


He offers you the cup of water again and you manage to drink the rest of it.  


“Just promise me you’ll take me out as much as you can?”  


He smiles and drapes an arm around you. “Of course, darlin’. We’ll stay out of camp as much as I can manage. I don’t even care what Grimshaw says.”  


You offer him a small smile. “Thank you.”  


“You ready to go up? I won’t leave your side.”  


You sigh and nod, determined to be stronger. Arthur offers you his hand as you walk up the hill towards the clearing and you latch onto his arm. Just as you reach it, Javier and Bill come back with one of the wagons, announcing the bodies have been burned. The clearing does look a little better without the corpses, and the broken bits of wagons and carriages have also disappeared. The cage has been removed and replaced with Dutch’s large tent. The wagon that acts as part of your tent has been placed on the far side of the clearing, overlooking the river.  


“Well it’s about time!” Grimshaw shrieks as she stomps over to you. “What the hell you been doing?”  


Arthur holds up his free hand. “Susan, I will explain later. But please do me a favor: go easy on her while we’re here. This place, well, somethin’ real bad happened to her here.”  


“As long as she works, Mr. Morgan.”  


“I’ll work,” you say in a weak voice. “I promise I will.”  


Grimshaw nods and marches off to bully Tilly. Arthur squeezes your hand.  


“Come on, I gotta go talk to Dutch.” He leads you closer to the cave mouth. Some of the others stare at you before returning to work. You feel ashamed again for your tantrum.  


“How’d you get on?” Dutch says.  


“Fine. Found a girl, took her home,” Arthur says. He had mentioned down by the river he’d found another girl in the same situation you’d been in, locked in a cage. “You and Micah find anything?”  


“Maybe, I think. I found our old friend, Mr. Cornwall. He’s buying a stake in the mine in Annesburg.”  


“Relentlessly ambitious feller, ain’t he?”  


“Micah and I will sniff about, see exactly what his plans are.”  


“So Dutch!” a familiar voice hollers from across the clearing. You and the others look to see Molly stumbling forward, Uncle following her close behind. “Did you miss me?”  


“I found her drunk in Saint Denis,” Uncle says.  


“You’re back,” Dutch says almost mockingly. “How jolly, Ms. O’Shea.”  


“It’s Molly, you sack of shit!” she screams. Even from where you’re standing, you can smell the alcohol.  


“Back and drunk.”  


“Who are you, the master, the Lord God almighty!”  


“Molly, calm down!”  


“I won’t be ignored, Dutch van der Linde! I aren’t him!” She swipes at Arthur. “I ain’t her!” she points to you. “Or her!” she gestures to Mary-Beth. The whole camp has gathered to watch. “Or any of your stooges!”  


“Calm yourself, miss!”  


“You don’t owe me nothing. I don’t owe you nothing. Nothing!”  


“Okay!” Dutch snarls.  


“I’ll spit in your eye!” Molly continues to stumble around in the circle. “I did. I told them!”  


“I’m sorry?” Dutch growls. The fire that has constantly been in his eyes flares again.  


“Yeah, I told ‘em and I’d tell ‘em again! Now I’ve got God’s ear!”  


“You told them what?!”  


“Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross,” Molly slurs, pacing. “About the bank robbery and I wanted them to kill you!”  


“You did what!” Dutch whips out his pistol but doesn’t point it.  


“I loved ya, you goddamn bastard!” Molly screams, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Go on, shoot me!”  


Arthur drops your hand and grabs Dutch’s shoulder, reaching for his pistol. “She ain’t worth it.”  


“You told on me? You betrayed me!” Dutch roars. Molly continues to slur as walks in a circle.  


“Quiet!” Arthur yells. “Just calm down.”  


“Arthur?” Dutch snarls.  


“She’s a fool. Get her outta here.”  


“You know the rules!” Dutch glares at Molly who has begun to laugh.  


“Not so big now are we, your majesty?”  


“You-”  


A loud blasts goes off, nearly causing you to come out of your skin, and Molly’s lower torso explodes in a cloud of blood. Grimshaw steps forward from your right, cocking the shotgun in her hands.  


“She knew the rules, Arthur,” she snaps as Molly collapses. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She orders Pearson and Bill to haul the body out of camp as Mary-Beth and Tilly quietly sob. “Get back to work, all of you! Quit your lollygagging!” Grimshaw throws a harsh glare your way as she marches off.  


Arthur grabs your hand and stomps off towards your wagon, his eyes hard.


	24. No Man Left Behind

Warnings: swearing, blood  


Word count: ~7700

Camp is heavily subdued for the rest of the night after Molly’s death. A fire in the center of the clearing has been started and while Uncle and Javier sit around it, there is no music. Everyone keeps to themselves; little talk is traded. After Pearson served dinner, he planted himself at the base of a tree and buried his head in his hands. The sight is so pitiful, you want to cry.  


The entire area feels cursed, almost like a darkness seeps from the ground where all those treacheries happened. The one time you wandered close to the cavern, you noticed a foul stench of decay seemed to come from it, although Dutch had assured everyone it was clear of bodies. The smell was enough to make your stomach turn and your eyes water, forcing you to return to the safety of Arthur’s arms.  


Arthur has been a great comfort already. He’s kept his promise of not leaving your side, although he’s quiet. He’s angry and upset about Molly and the whole situation. You are, too. Whatever Molly was, she didn’t deserve her fate. You have a feeling in your gut that she wasn’t responsible for how things went during the bank job. Something about the way she had been screaming at Dutch didn’t seem right. She acted as though she knew saying she had betrayed Dutch would be the thing that hurt him most. Still, you wonder if she hadn’t been lying.  


Arthur brings you a plate of stew as you sit on his cot, thinking about Molly and how things seem to be going from bad to worse. You take it and set it on your lap, not eating. He sits down next to you with his own plate. He takes a few bites but then stops.  


“What’s happening to us?” you whisper, your eyes tearing up.  


Arthur looks at you. “I don’t know. Seems like… I don’t know, like our luck has finally turned. Somethin’ tells me things are gonna get worse from here.”  


You sigh and close your eyes, tears running down your cheek. “I’m sick of losing people, Arthur.”  


“Me too, darlin’. Me too.”  


Arthur takes your plate of untouched stew and sets it down on the table along with his own. He takes off his boots and then lies down, pulling you down with him. “Try to get some sleep, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna leave your side.”  


You bury your face into his neck, planting a hand over your exposed ear once more. Arthur puts a hand on your head, his fingers brushing against your scalp. Despite everything, you manage to fall asleep.

In the morning, Arthur brings you a cup of coffee. You’re still feeling nervous and miserable. As he puts his boots back on, you lean against his shoulder, drinking.  


“We’re gonna get out today, darlin’,” he says. “I don’t want ya bein’ here more than ya have to be.”  


You pat his knee in response. He takes your empty cup so you can put your own boots on. Standing, you stretch and follow him over to Pearson’s fire. The cook is sitting on a crate, a half empty beer bottle in his hand. He sniffs and continues his staring contest with the dirt.  


Just as Arthur grabs your hand to take you over to the horses, Grimshaw stomps over, looking distraught.  


“Mr. Morgan! The donation box has been smashed!”  


“Who’d wanna do that?” he asks.  


“Well, I don’t know! We had that thing forever! What’s happening to us?”  


Arthur sighs heavily. “I know. We’ll manage somehow.”  


“I suppose we’ll have to. Y/N, I need you to-”  


Arthur holds up his hand. “I’m sorry, Susan. She’s helpin’ me with a job today.”  


Grimshaw puts her hands on her hips. “Mr. Morgan, I need her help here.”  


“I know. Listen, I ain’t gonna lie to ya. She’s probably not gonna be in camp much while we’re here. Like I said, somethin’ real bad happened to her here.” He squeezes your hand.  


“Mr. Morgan, we cannot support anyone who doesn’t contribute.”  


He chuckles and rubs his chin. “We been supportin’ Uncle for how many years, how much he done?”  


Grimshaw puts her hands up and walks away, muttering angrily. You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Arthur. I… I hate it here.”  


“I know.” He drapes his arm around your waist and guides you over to the horses. He lets you take the lead on Rannoch and you canter down the path to the main road. As soon as you reach it, your eyes involuntarily draw to the hill you’d gone up on Rain just before she died. Rannoch stops and Arthur stands next to you on Artemis.  


“Hey, look at me,” he says, pulling your attention to him. “Don’t think about that, okay? Think about somethin’ that makes you happy, like Rannoch.”  


You nod and follow him down the trail south past the sickly village. A rotting, moldy sign announces the name Butcher’s Creek. Going a short ways down the path, you pass a green lake with a waterfall. The water has a strange color to it; a mangy coyote drinking from it sees your horses and scurries off.  


For the next hour, you and Arthur travel south and into Lemoyne. The farther you get from Beaver Hollow, the better you feel. You and Arthur begin to pick up conversation easily. He leads you to the edge of the river where the frames of an old house stands, bushes growing inside it. A precarious boat dock sticks out into the river and on it, Sadie and Abigail stand near a small boat.  


After you’ve dismounted, Arthur tells you to grab some of your larger guns, explaining that there will be a guaranteed gunfight while rescuing John. You pull out your springfield and bolt action rifles. He nods approvingly, shouldering his own rifle and walking towards the pier.  


“I must come!” you hear Abigail say to Sadie. “He’s my husband!”  


“It’s gonna be violent, ya ain’t comin’!” Sadie shoots at her.  


“I insist!” Abigail snarls.  


“Insist all you like, it ain’t happenin’!” Arthur walks onto the pier and the two girls turn to look at him. Sadie approaches him, “Arthur! Tell her she ain’t comin’.”  


“Abigail, you ain’t comin’,” he says as he and Sadie go to the boat. You follow, barely meeting Abigail’s gaze. “That’s the end of it.”  


“But-”  


“But nothin’!” Arthur says, stepping into the boat and offering his hand to you, helping you in.  


“Why she goin’?” Abigail points to you. “If she can go, I can!”  


“Abigail,” Sadie says, throwing one of the ropes holding the boats off the pier. “You got a boy! I ain’t gonna watch him get turned into an orphan. Besides, John will be calmer without worryin’ about you.”  


“We’ll get John back,” you say to her. You sit down in the middle seat as Arthur throws off the last rope and grabs the oars.  


Abigail sighs and looks at the three of you. “Well, I ain’t the cryin’ sort, but I’m real grateful.”  


“We know you are,” Sadie says.  


Arthur begins rowing the boat out and into the river. Abigail remains on the pier, watching. The boat heads across the river towards the island.  


You and Sadie pick up an easy conversation. While Arthur and the others had been lost on Guarma, you and Sadie had come to depend on one another and even developed a friendship. Over the months since she joined the gang, Sadie’s become unmovable and steadfast.  


As the boat approaches the island, Sadie looks hard at it. “Might be enough marshland to move in close enough to find a spot for us to look for John.”  


“Prisoners should be workin’ the fields by this time, I reckon,” you say, staring at the land as well.  


“All we gotta do is bust John out and row our way outta there. Seems simple enough.”  


“Don’t it always?” Arthur says.  


He guides the boat over to the edge and you and Sadie hop out, pulling it further onto land so as to not float away. The edge of the river is hidden by a tall raise in the land topped by thick bushes. It provides the perfect cover.  


As Arthur hops out of the boat, Sadie pulls out her binoculars and looks ahead.  


“There,” she says, pointing. “A guard tower. We can get a better view of the fields from there.”  


The three of you use the bushes as cover and run towards the tower, Arthur in the rear. When you’re fifty feet from the back of the tower, you and Sadie stop.  


“There’s a guard up there,” you say, spotting an officer in a blue suit.  


“I’ll deal with him,” Arthur growls. Staying hunched over, he runs over and climbs up the ladder. You and Sadie follow in his lead and you hear the guard grunt as Arthur knocks him out. Once you’ve climbed up the ladder, you look around. Three wide fields lay before you, a large shed on the right. Farther along on the island, across a small river, is the penitentiary itself. A small group of prisoners watched by two guards on horses work in the field closest to you. Arthur grabs the scoped rifle that the guard had and peers through the sight at the group.  


“Think that might be him,” he says, focusing on a prisoner.  


“Take the guards out,” Sadie hisses.  


Arthur pulls the trigger and one of the guards falls off his horse. Arthur fires again and the other falls as the prisoners scatter.  


“Shit, that might not have been him,” Arthur growls. He throws down the rifle as you and Sadie to crawl down the ladder. Once he’s reached the ground, he runs towards where the guards fell, you and Sadie follow.  


“I think one of the guards is still moving,” Sadie yells to him.  


The three of you run over the field and find the guards Arthur had shot. One of them gasps on the ground, clutching his bleeding stomach. When he sees Arthur, he starts reaching for his gun laying beside him. Sadie kicks it from his reach and whips out her pistol, pointing it at him.  


“You know John Marston?” she says.  


“He… he ain’t… workin’ today,” the guard chokes.  


“Put the gun down, lady!” a new voice snarls. You and Sadie look up to see a guard pointing a rifle at Sadie. You make to grab double action revolver from its holster and he points it at you.  


“Don’t even think about it. Put your guns down!”  


Arthur walks up behind him and pushes the barrel of his pistol at the guard’s shoulder. “No, you put the gun down.”  


The guard gasps and drops his rifle as you slide your bolt action off your shoulder. Sadie holsters her pistol and grabs the rifle next to the dead guard. Arthur grabs the guard from behind, folding his arm around his chest and holding the pistol to his temple.  


“Ya made a real big mistake pointin’ that gun at these two,” Arthur snarls into the man’s ear. “Now, where’s John Marston?”  


The guard pants nervously, his head leaning away from the gun. “He… he ain’t in the work detail today.”  


“Well, why don’t we go and get him together?” Arthur says. He begins pushing the guard forward towards the penitentiary, still holding a firm grip on him. You and Sadie walk ahead of him, keeping a lookout. A guard walks around the corner of the shed on your right and you slam the butt of your rifle into his head, knocking him out. Sadie dashes forward and does the same to two guards.  


Your group slowly makes its way to the steel bridge, where you’re met with more guards. Arthur threatens to kill his hostage and they hold up their guns in surrender, making it easy for you and Sadie to knock them down. Arthur asks the guard who the head guard is and he answers with the name Jameson.  


You cross the bridge and Arthur stops, still holding onto the guard tight. A line of guards stand on top of the penitentiary, their rifles pointed at the three of you. You and Sadie point your guns back at them.  


“Okay, just be cool now,” Arthur says into the guard’s ear. “Jameson!”  


A guard standing above the gate responds, “He’s in Saint Denis.”  


“They got Milliken!” one of the other guards calls out.  


“Got him, and going to kill him,” Arthur says. He releases his arm from Milliken’s neck and holds a tight grip on his shoulder, still pointing the pistol at his head. “Unless you bring me John Marston! You got one minute! I’m counting. One. Two. Three.”  


He pauses and leans towards the guard. “Milliken, ain’t it? Will you count for me? I got talkin’ to do.”  


Milliken, his arms held up, looks back at him, his brow dripping with sweat. “Yes, sir, of course, sir. From one or four, sir?”  


“Oh, very funny,” Arthur growls. “We must be at eleven by now!”  


Milliken looks forward and starts counting from eleven. When he reaches thirteen, he begins to cry. Arthur tells him to count faster, so he does, sobbing harder.  


“Now hurry up!” Arthur shouts at the guards. “Or this poor fool’s gonna get his brains shot out for nothin’. Now Milliken, don’t stop countin’, I can’t hear you.”  


The guard, who has gone silent the past few seconds, looks pleadingly up at the other guards. “Hurry up and bring that asshole out here, you bastards! Come on!”  


“Don’t cry, buddy,” Arthur tells him.  


“I don’t wanna die!”  


Arthur pats his shoulder. “I know, I know.”  


“Hey!” Sadie yells. She gestures with her gun towards the gate. Through the bars, you see someone wearing a striped uniform with a guard coming through. John walks out, his feet in chains.  


“Hello, you three,” he calls out. Sadie dashes over to him and shoots the chains.  


“Now, no funny business,” Arthur calls, “or Mr. Milliken here will stop cryin’ once and for all.”  


John runs behind you, uttering a quick greeting to you. Sadie follows him and you take your queue and lower your rifle, running back to the bridge.  


“Today’s your lucky day!” Arthur says to the guard. Immediately, gunfire rings out. You take cover behind some crates near the bridge and begin shooting at the guards on the ramparts. Arthur dashes behind a wagon as Milliken runs towards the prison, sobbing loudly.  


Several guards fall, only to be replaced by more. The gates lift and more run out, shooting. After a few minutes of heavy gunfire, Arthur hollers at you.  


“Go now! Go with Sadie and John!”  


Knowing better than to argue, you take the small break and run down the bridge. A thundering sound of foot steps tells you Arthur’s on your heels. He suddenly grabs you and slams you on the ground behind some barrels as the ground you had just been on explodes.  


“Damn cannons!” he growls in your ears. Your heart seems to be attempting to escape from your chest. “Come on!” He rolls off of you and the two of you get up and chase after John and Sadie through the fields you had come through, getting farther from the roaring cannons.  


Bullets ring through the air after you. Up ahead, several guards on horses charge and aim their guns. You and Arthur aim and fire, three of them fall and the other two fire. One of the bullets whizzes past your ear and you quickly take aim and shoot another one of them. He falls and Sadie kills the last.  


You and Arthur run as fast as you can after John and Sadie towards the river and the boat. Every once in a while, Arthur will pause and shoot at the pursuing guards. Finally, you reach the river. John and Sadie leap in; Arthur has paused to take down more guards.  


“Come on, Arthur!” you shout, stumbling into the boat. Sadie takes the oars and Arthur climbs in, aiming back at some guards who have reached the river. She rows as you and Arthur shoot them.  


“You always need rescuin’, Marston,” Arthur says as he shoots a guard in the head.  


“Nice to see you too,” John retorts. He sits on the bench behind Sadie.  


“You just relax and enjoy yourself, John,” Arthur calls back as you reload your rifle. “Leave the real work for them as can still handle it.”  


“Thanks for the hospitality, boys!” John yells to the guards as Sadie rows the boat further away from the island. It finally reaches a point that the guards can’t shoot you. Sighing, you lower your gun, your heart pumping. Arthur sits down next to you, shouldering his rifle.  


“Everyone a’right?” he asks.  


“Think so,” Sadie says.  


John leans back slightly, looking up into the sky. “Feels good to be leavin’.”  


Sadie pulls the boat next to the pier; you and John tie it up.  


“You know,” Arthur says to John as they step onto the pier, “I think I liked you better when you was all trussed up like a prized chicken.”  


“No doubt.”  


“Come on,” Sadie says. She pushes them forward hastily towards the horses. “They’re gonna be on our tail soon enough if you don’t hurry up!”  


“That’s us told then,” Arthur mumbles behind you. You quickly mount Rannoch, patting him. The others hop on, John riding behind Sadie.  


“Thank you, all of you,” John says.  


“Don’t mention it,” you reply. The group canters down the trail and your heart sinks when you realize you have no choice but to return to Beaver Hollow.  


“What happened in Saint Denis?” John asks. “Is Abigail alright?”  


“She’s fine, Jack is too,” Sadie answers. “She managed to escape when they got Hosea.”  


“Hosea. That still don’t seem real, somehow. All them years, Arthur. He was like…”  


“I know. We lost young Lenny too.”  


“What a goddamn mess. And what about the money?”  


“Somewhere at the bottom of the sea,” Arthur says with a heavy sigh. He quickly tells John about his adventure on Guarma. “Things ain’t been good, John,” he finishes.  


“You’re tellin’ me.”  


“We’re holed up now in the mountains to the north,” Arthur continues. “The Pinkertons caught up with us, so we had to move.”  


“Yeah,” Sadie says. “Seems Molly ratted us out, the bitch, so she’s dead too.”  


“Jesus. Maybe you should have just left me to hang.”  


“I should warn you,” Arthur says as the horses cross the border of Lemoyne into New Hanover. “Dutch didn’t want us breakin’ you out. Said it wasn’t the right time, so it might not be the hero’s welcome you’re imagining.”  


“So much for no man left behind,” John replies. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about this. In the bank, when they grabbed me, he saw it. Felt almost like he had a moment to do something and didn’t.”  


“Dutch ain’t himself right now, or maybe he just ain’t who we thought he was.”  


“Guess we don’t need to worry about who’s his favorite no more,” John says as you ride up on Butcher’s Creek. Your heart sinks further as you head down the painfully familiar trail towards the wide cavern.  


As soon as the horses stop and you’re dismounting, Abigail runs towards John and Sadie, looking relieved. “You brought him back to me!”  


“We told you we would,” Sadie answers.  


As she hugs John, Dutch hollers across the camp. “What are you doing here?” He marches over to your group, followed by Micah.  


“Good to see you too, partner,” John says back bitterly.  


“I meant I hadn’t sent for you yet.”  


“I went,” Arthur says, walking casually up to John’s side. You follow him, not liking the anger on Dutch’s face. You stand just behind him, keeping your hand on the butt of your gold revolver just in case.  


“But I said-” Dutch starts.  


“Yeah, I know what you said. I felt different.”  


“Is that so?”  


Arthur walks up to him and stops within arm’s reach of him. He stares defiantly at Dutch. “Yes.”  


“And when springing John brings the law down on all of us, what then, Arthur?”  


“Well I guess we’ll have another fight on our hands.”  


“Loyalty, Arthur,” Dutch hisses with a small shake of his head. “It ain’t… I had a goddamn plan! John, you are my brother, you are my son. I was coming for you.”  


“They was talkin’ of hanging me, Dutch,” John says. Abigail makes to charge at Dutch, but John stops her.  


“They was talking!” Dutch growls. He begins backing away. “They was talking! And now they may come and hang all of us.”  


Micah backs up with him, throwing the four of you a daring look. As he and Dutch turn to go back to Dutch’s tent, he coughs.  


John and Arthur watch them walk away, their faces stony. Arthur kicks a rock angrily as Abigail grabs John’s hand and leads him away to their tent. You put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and start guiding him to your tent.  


“No,” he says, stopping.  


“What is it?”  


“I don’t wanna be here right now. Dutch is… well,” he pauses.  


“I know,” you say, squeezing his shoulder.  


“Come with me.”  


The two of you mount back up and leave Beaver Hollow, much to your relief. You travel north with the river, hunting along the steep ravine until a tall waterfall prevents you from continuing to follow it. Arthur leads the horses east up the mountain, the forest growing thicker. As you reach the top of it, Rannoch breathing heavily, the setting sun is blocked by a wall of dark clouds. Arthur stops and dismounts, walking over to stand at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the waterfall. You do the same, touching his arm gently.  


“Things are bad, Arthur,” you say flatly.  


“I know. Dutch is, well, like I said. Dutch ain’t Dutch no more. On Guarma, he kept sayin’ strange things.”  


“Like what?”  


He sighs, not looking at you. “Kept sayin’ things along the lines of you poisonin’ my mind against him. Says ever since I fell for you, I been doubtin’ him. Even said he regretted lettin’ you stay with us.”  


You don’t quite know what to say. While Dutch had been suspicious when Arthur first brought you into the gang, it had been him who demanded you stay with the camp. He even told you he was glad to have you around. It feels like Dutch has become a completely different person.  


“I haven’t done anything to you,” you say finally, looking over the ravine. “How can I be poisoning you?”  


“You ain’t, darlin’. The only thing you done is given me a center, somethin’ to come back to.” He faces you and grabs your hand. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on with him, and the only reason I’m tellin’ you this is so you stay on your guard around him.”  


You bite your lip, looking down. “You don’t think he’ll kick me out or something?”  


Arthur huffs. “Where you go, I go. Dutch knows that. Whatever he’s thinkin’ now, he won’t want me gone. You’re safe as long as you’re with me.”  


A slew of emotions runs through you. It seems that camp, the place that had been the safest space for you, is now the most dangerous and yet you can’t leave. You won’t leave Arthur to try and carry the gang on his shoulders, as he seems to have done for so long. You slide your arms around his waist and pull yourself against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Arthur. Whatever happens, I’ll be there by your side.”  


He holds you close and kisses your head. The sky is suddenly illuminated, causing you to jump. A crash of thunder ripples through the air as the wind picks up, the temperature dropping quickly.  


“Come on,” Arthur says as the sky grows dark. “Let’s try and find somewhere to take cover for the night.”  


Mounting up, you fold your jacket closer around you as the cold sets in and the rain begins. Within moments, what had been a light sprinkle has turned into a downpour, the wind ripping through the trees. Water drips off your hat in thick drops as you follow Arthur west and across the wide river. He looks for a place to pitch the tent for the night, but the wind is howling so strong he decides the best option would be to look for a building or a cave. He leads you north, across the train tracks.  


The sky flashes once more, accompanied quickly by a massive boom. You look up ahead of the path, your hands shaking from the cold. Above the trees, a large metal ball stands by a large, brick building.  


“Arthur, what about there?” you say, gesturing to it. He follows your shaking finger and nods when he sees it.  


“Let’s try it.”  


He guides the horses through the trees and up to it. The building is surrounded by piles of wood and metal scraps. The tall windows of the building show a large room with panels and gears illuminated by electric lights. The metal ball sits atop a tall tower and as you get closer, you see it’s made of bars, the inside hollow and exposed. A tree up the hill explodes as the sky flashes again, making Rannoch snort nervously. Arthur dismounts his horse and puts a hand on your back as you walk up the steps to the double wooden doors of the building.  


When you walk into the building, the first thing you see is a circular cage with an open end. The only thing inside it is what looks like an upright operating table with a large burlap cloth draped over it. All around the room are wires, coils, panels and other contraptions you can’t put a name to. In the corner sits a room, the upper walls made of steel fence as if to hold an observer. Tall control panels stand, blocking part of the room from your view.  


“Hello?” Arthur calls out, closing the door and muting the raging storm. He looks around, flabbergasted as you are. “Is anybody here?” He walks to one side of the room near a rotating steel wheel and you go to the other, looking around at the control panels with blinking lights. Several metal contraptions stand against the wall, some with electric lights, some with moving bits and others stand still.  


A tinny voice suddenly echoes through the room. “If you are here to rob me, I wish to make clear that I have weapons that could liquefy each of your internal organs in turn and leave you just a puddle on the floor.”  


You and Arthur look around the room, trying to find the speaker. Arthur gestures for you to stay put as the man speaks and approaches the observing room.  


You recognize the thick accent of the strange professor with the toy boat in Saint Denis. Arthur seems to remember him as well.  


“Professor, we ain’t here to rob you,” he calls out, approaching the room. “It’s us, we helped you at the pond.” He peaks into the room and stares at a corner blocked from your view by a table and a tall control panel.  


“You did?” the voice responds. Arthur raps on the fenced door and the professor pops up. You join Arthur’s side and see him wearing a white lab coat and holding a strange dish with a long handle, a metal stick stretches from one edge of the dish to the other. You realize it must be the contraption that allowed his voice to echo through the room.  


When the professor sees it’s you and Arthur, his eyes widen. “Oh! Yes, you did. The buffoons.” He puts the contraption down and glares at Arthur. “Hello.”  


“I hope we’re not disturbin’ ya,” Arthur says. “Just needed some shelter from the storm.”  


“Of course you’re disturbing me, buddy,” the professor grunts and stomps out of the room. You and Arthur follow him a few steps behind, curious.  


“I almost solved biggest problem and you mess it up.” He begins adjusting some dials and handles on a panel.  


“I did?” Arthur asks.  


“No, but I did,” Marco responds, rushing to another panel. “I can’t get the bloody conductor straight.” He begins mumbling and you hear him say, “It is the geometry of life, the grand theory of power, the grand theory of theories!” He goes into the room and comes back out, holding three long, forked rods and a fourth, smaller one with a dark light bulb at the end. He leads Arthur to the door, continuing to babble on about how he has a problem, yet he never states what it is.  


“I don’t understand,” Arthur says with a small, confused smile.  


“Of course you don’t. Help me adjust these things and I will show you what I mean.” He hands the rods to Arthur.  


“Well, I ain’t much of a scientist,” he says, collapsing the rods and placing them into his satchel.  


“You are an American. Science is far beyond you, but you make a fine buffoon.” He pats Arthur’s shoulder, opens the door and then shoves him out into the storm. He closes the door and goes back into the observing room, grabbing the dish he had been speaking into. You stand awkwardly in the room.  


Marco begins speaking into the dish, which echoes through the room and you realize it must also somehow echo outside because he addresses Arthur and tells him to follow the light of the short rod until it glows and to place one of the other rods. Lightning flashes and you run over to one of the windows, looking out but not seeing anything in the watery darkness.  


“I swear,” you say to the professor, squinting at the window, “you get my future husband killed, I’ll beat you to death.”  


"He’ll be fine,” Marco grunts, rushing over to another panel and twiddling with a switch. “Make yourself useful and grab me that.” He gestures to the table by the observing room. Atop it sits nearly a dozen tools, all alien to you.  


“You’re gonna have to tell me which one,” you say, looking at them.  


“The one with the prongs,” he sighs, almost as though it were something everyone should know.  


You grab a thin steel rod with four prongs and hand it to him. He grabs it and sticks it into a slot on the panel, turning it slightly. A small light above suddenly flicks on.  


“Good, now grab the handle there.” He points to a panel close to where you’re standing with a small, thin handle at eye level. You grab it and are just about to push it down when he tells you to stop.  


“We must do it at same time,” he says. “Current must hit the coils evenly.” He counts down to three and you both push the handles down, a sizzling sound rushes through the metal cage in the middle of the room. You look at it, but don’t see anything.  


“Well, I hope your future buffoon is almost done,” he says as lightning flashes again. The door swings open and Arthur walks in, drenched.  


“Ah, wonderful!” Marco says, dashing around the room and fiddling with more handles and panels.  


“I wish I ever went to school so I had a clue what was going on,” Arthur says, handing him the rod with the light. Marco takes it and tosses it onto the table, dashing over to a large panel with three large handles.  


“Now, I become the second creature after God himself to bring life to this earth.” He flips a handle and then runs over to a second panel with a half dozen handles with lights and dials. He gives you and Arthur a meaningful look and pulls one of the handles down. You hope he was expecting nothing because that’s exactly what happened, except the slight sizzling crackles from the cage again. Marco glares at the panel, tapping on one of the dials.  


“Am I missing something?” you ask.  


“The switches!” he cries, grabbing Arthur’s arm and pulling him to the door again. “The bloody switches. Climb up the tower and adjust them.”  


He points to the tower with the coiled steel ball on it and shoves Arthur out one more time. You stand at the window and watch him as he climbs up it. A few moments pass, the storm seems to grow more intense as lightning flashes above the mountain. Something must have happened in the tower because it suddenly lights up with flickering electricity, sparking and travelling down. Several of the contraptions in the room also begin to spark and move, some of them clicking or hissing. You look around, feeling nervous as the atmosphere becomes static. Marco laughs almost maniacally, calling Arthur back down.  


A moment later, Arthur stomps into the building, looking flustered. “If I had been electrocuted-” he starts, pointing to the professor.  


“I knew you’d be fine. Now hurry!” He adjusts a few more dials again as you and Arthur stand near the panel he had tried using before.  


“Second time lucky, eh?” Arthur grumbles.  


“Second time? Try seven thousandth. This is my life’s work.” Marco opens the door to the cage and goes into it. He puts a hand on the cloth covering the stand and gives you both a meaningful look. “It is incredible.”  


He rips the cloth off and reveals what can only be described as a man made of steel, the body looks like a barrel with lights, dials and cogs. The limbs are stiff and his head is perfectly round with circular eyes and a barred vent as a mouth. A tiny rod with a ball on the end sticks out of the back of the head.  


The professor looks at the machine briefly and then runs back to the panel, instructing you to watch. Arthur clasps his hands in front of him and you put your hands on your hips, expecting nothing to happen once again.  


Marco flips a few more switches and then grabs the largest one, turning it down. A giant ball dangling above the cage suddenly explodes in crackling, blue shards of light, causing you and Arthur to jump, a small scream slipping from your mouth. The lightning travels directly into the metal man, flickering to the bars of the cage.  


Without warning, the lightning stops, but the air is still thick with its static, the smell of hot metal fills your nostrils. You look at the metal man. His round eyes are brilliantly lit, the dial on his chest ticks back and forth sporadically. His right arm suddenly lifts of its own accord and turns its palm up.  


A maniacal laughing rips behind you and Marco screams out: “He lives! My son lives!”  


Your heart pumps hard in your chest and you latch onto Arthur’s arm. The two of you watch as the metal man raises his leg, takes a step forward and hobbles off the platform. He takes two awkward steps forward and then falls with a heavy clang. Something sparks in its head and his eyes fall dim.  


Marco huffs a small laugh, looking proudly at the machine.  


“Is that it?” Arthur asks.  


“For now. Isn’t he wonderful? I am so happy!” He turns back to the panel and lifts a few handles. The air loses its static and several of the machines lining the room stop moving.  


“You just saw Creation’s second birth!” Marco says, kneeling next to the machine.  


“All I saw was a machine waddle a few steps,” Arthur says. You can’t say anything, too dumbfounded by what you had just seen. First this professor made a boat move without a pulley system and now he’s created a metal man that is powered by electricity.  


“I have a son,” Marco whimpers. “I am the luckiest man alive. Those morons! They doubted me.”  


Arthur shakes his head and grabs your hand, pulling you towards the door. He pats Marco on the back as he passes. “We’ll see ya later.”  


“Yes, yes. Good bye.”  


Arthur leads you out into the storm, which is still pummeling down into the earth, the wind howling. At least the lightning has stopped.  


“What are we doing back out here?” you shout at him over the wind as you mount up. “If we set up our tent, it’s just going to flood.”  


“I know, darlin’. But we shouldn’t stay there. Leave him alone with his work.”  


He leads you down the path and back to the train tracks. He starts heading down the path of the tracks and a short ways after, you spot a small shack that must have been a station at some point. Now it lies dark and empty, but at least it’s dry.

For the next two days, the storm continues on, occasionally with lightning and thunder. The shack has proved to be a useful shelter against the downpour. Arthur insists on hunting as much as possible, despite the rain. This results in you coming back the second night completely soaked and freezing to the shack, Rannoch’s back piled up in pelts.  


The shack’s empty when you get there, so you light the lantern inside, wishing it was dry enough outside to light a fire and warm yourself. You change into dry clothes and drape a blanket across your shoulders. Placing the lantern on the floor, you try to warm yourself while drying out your hair, but the lantern isn’t very effective. Arthur comes in just as a bolt of lightning lights the sky.  


“Ah, thank God you’re here,” he says, stripping off his coat.  


“Why? What’s wrong?”  


“There was a cougar around. When I was skinnin’ it, he had fresh blood on his chin. Was worried since we know your luck around cougars.”  


You laugh and look up at him. He’s wearing nothing but his soaked union suit. He smiles down at you.  


“You look cozy in that blanket.”  


“I’m freezing, Arthur. Come join me.”  


He chuckles and strips out of his union suit, sitting down next to you. You open the blanket and his eyes immediately rake your naked body. You can’t help but blush as you wrap the blanket around him and then crawl into his lap, nuzzling up against him. Despite his damp skin, heat radiates from his chest. He enfolds you in his arms and the blanket, warming you better than the lantern could.  


Without warning, he lays down onto his back, pulling you on top of him. His cold hands slide up your back and he sighs.  


“Mm, I’ve missed this.”  


“You’ve been back for over a week, Arthur,” you smile into his chest.  


“I know, but we ain’t done nothin’ since. What you think about gettin’ warm properly?” he growls in your ear. You smile up at him and then lean up to kiss him on the lips, sliding your hips to straddle him. 

By the next morning, the rain has finally slowed down to a light drizzle. Arthur decides it’s time to return to camp. You know he’s right, despite not wanting to go back to that miserable place. You both saddle up and head back.  


Beaver Hollow is just as miserable as it was the last time you were here, if not more. Javier greets you both coldly when you ride in. Dutch and Micah are nowhere to be seen, but to your surprise Trelawney is here. He sits by the table, chatting quietly with John.  


Grimshaw comes up, looking just as sour as ever, a cigarette between her fingers.  


“Mr. Morgan, Mr. Bell wanted me to tell you to meet him and Dutch in Annesburg. Something to do with that man Mr. Cornwall.”  


Arthur tips his hat in acknowledgement. He pats you on the back and saddles back up, heading out of the clearing. Grimshaw pounces on you, setting you on multiple tasks. She checks on you constantly as though expecting you to sneak off, which you’re tempted to do. This clearing is so foul and horrible, it seems to be leaching into everyone.  


When you sit near the other girls to wash clothes and sew, there is little talk traded between you. When someone does say something, one of the others usually responds with a quick snap. Karen slumps against the wagon, too drunk to help. She gets up after a few hours and stumbles over to Grimshaw.  


“You’re a nasty woman!” she growls at Grimshaw, who’s sitting against a tree near the stew pot.  


“I did what needed to be done!” Grimshaw replies, standing up and tossing her cigarette. “And you know the rules, Ms. Jones!”  


“She didn’t break no rules, you horrible woman! She was in love. You’re a murderer. A murderer!” Karen swayed off, her face red.  


Grimshaw stands for a moment, looking miserable. After a moment, she sits back down and puts her head in her hands.  


This isn’t the only scene of how much the gang seems to have disintegrated. You noticed Jack earlier going around camp, calling for Cain the dog. He hasn’t been seen since leaving Lakay. Bill is more irritable than ever, snapping at the smallest comments. Pearson remains sitting down by his cabin, drinking heavily and sniffing; he’s stopped whistling. 

The only good thing that seems to have happened is that John and Abigail seem to actually be trying to have a good relationship. They haven’t argued the entire time and Abigail has moved her and Jack’s things to John’s tent.  


Mid afternoon sees the return of Dutch, Micah and Arthur. Micah and Dutch look pleased while Arthur looks irritated and angry. He marches into his tent but doesn’t come back out. After checking that Grimshaw is still sat by the tree, you get up and go to him.  


“What was that all about?” you ask quietly, sitting next to him on the cot.  


Arthur sighs, taking off his hat. “Damn Dutch. Losing it again.”  


“I thought he just wanted something to do about Cornwall?”  


“Oh he did. Found out Cornwall’s paying a lot of money to keep the Pinkertons on our tail. Said we were just makin’ a social call to make a deal to get all of us out of here. Cornwall didn’t take too kindly to it, so Dutch shot him.”  


You sit confused for a moment. “That’s a good thing, ain’t it? Maybe the Pinkertons will ease off a bit?”  


“No it ain’t good. Sure, Cornwall was a thorn in our sides that needed to be dealt with, but I don’t think it was our job to send him to his judgement.”  


“Arthur, how many people we killed? How many people have we sent to their own judgements? Isn’t Cornwall just another?”  


He sighs. “Yes, but to be honest, I’m growin’ tired of it. If we keep killin’ folk, we ain’t gonna get outta this mess. We’re gonna stay stuck in situations like this.” He pauses and shakes his head. “For some reason, I’m seein’ things a lot clearer. We can’t keep livin’ like this, Y/N. I wanna marry you nice and proper, but I’m terrified every day that someone will mess up and one of us will get killed.”  


This causes you to pause. In all the months you’ve known Arthur, he’s never shown any worry for his own safety, always putting the gang before himself. You wonder what has brought about this new line of thinking.  


“I am, too, Arthur, but I thought it was my job to worry about that. You’ve never had a problem being Dutch’s right hand gunman before.”  


“I know, and look at what’s happened. I been wonderin’ what would be different if I hadn’t been for so long.”  


“Ain’t no use in wondering about the past, Arthur. Nothing can be changed. Only thing we can do with the past is learn from it, try to make a better future.”  


He looks at you sadly and then smiles. “What would I do without you? Feels like you’re the only thing keepin’ my head straight.” He grabs your hand and squeezes it.  


You smile and then look down. “Arthur, what would you think about maybe getting out of this?”  


“What do you mean?” his grip on you lessens.  


“I mean leaving the gang. I know everyone here is our family, but things just seem to be going from bad to worse. How much longer can we last like this?”  


He shakes his head. “We might still have time, Y/N. Time to change Dutch’s mind. He might not be so far gone just yet. Let’s not think about that until we see how things play out a while longer, darlin’. Not only that, I’m gettin’ worried about Micah.”  


“Micah? What’s there to worry about with him?”  


He sighs again. “I ain’t worried about him, worried about what he might do. He’s convinced there’s a rat in the gang, figures that’s the only way the Pinkertons found us so quick. Not only that, he’s gettin’ crazy and talkin’ in Dutch’s ear. You remember Mrs. Downes?”  


You nod your head, recalling the widow.  


“She’s dead,” Arthur looks at you.  


“Dead? How?”  


“Saw her lyin’ near the coal factory, bullet in her head. I can’t say for sure, but when we were runnin’ after Dutch shot Cornwall, we passed her and Micah spat on her corpse. I gotta nasty feelin’ he killed her.”  


You pause and bite your lip. “Why would Micah kill her? I mean, I know he’s a blood thirsty bastard, but what would be the point?”  


Arthur huffs. “You think Micah really needs a reason? When I got him out of jail all those weeks ago, he and I pretty much shot everybody in that town all for his precious guns. Like I said, he don’t need a reason.”  


You sigh and squeeze his hand. “Well, be careful around him, Arthur. I don’t like how close he’s gotten to Dutch and I know he ain’t overly fond of you. Try not to give him a reason to come after you.”  


“I can handle myself just fine, darlin’.”  


“I know, but please be careful.” You lean over and kiss his cheek before getting up to go back to your chores before Grimshaw has a chance to attack you again.


	25. Farewell to Old Friends

Warnings: swearing, blood, murder  


Word count: ~10,200

The afternoon after your return sees you helping Pearson put his stew out. His meals have been lacking in ingredients since the donation box was destroyed. No one knows who did it or is fessing up to it. Dutch didn’t really seem to care when Grimshaw told him, another worrying sign. Micah has stuck suspiciously close to Dutch’s tent nearly the entire time you’ve seen him. The one time he did wander away was to torment Jack, but John surprisingly came to the boy’s defense.  


You sigh heavily after setting out the stew, wishing to get away from here already. You had more nightmares last night of being trapped in a cage and your leg burned painfully. The pain had been intense enough to wake you early in the morning and you cuddled into Arthur’s arms as he slept.  


You look over to him now and see him wandering over to his tent, Reverend Swanson sitting on a crate nearby. Swanson has really cleaned himself up since arriving at Beaver Hollow, having not taken any of his supply of morphine. In fact, Sadie mentioned to you she had seen him dumping it into the river. His hair is swept back and his mustache trimmed, his eyes clear instead of bloodshot. At least this place seems to be pointing one person in the right direction.  


Arthur picks up a conversation with the reverend as you spoon up two plates of stew. Just as you’re about to head over to Arthur, Dutch walks over to him and says something you can’t hear. Arthur nods and they go into Arthur’s tent, sitting down. You head over and hear Dutch say, “We’re gonna get a boat, get on a river and go north. Then Tahiti, the Fiji Islands, or this new place, New Guinea. Dancing girls, freedom. But first we have to make a whole lot of smoke, a whole lot of commotion and then we disappear.”  


“We really need more commotion?” Arthur says as you hand him a plate and sit down next to him.  


Dutch pauses, throwing you a sharp look and then continues. “One score, and a hell of a lot of noise, Arthur.”  


“We ain’t so good at doing scores anymore, Dutch.” Arthur sets his plate down without eating. You can’t say you blame him, you’ve hardly had an appetite either. You set your plate down as well.  


“You feeling alright, Arthur?” Dutch asks him.  


“Of course.” Arthur grabs your hand on the cot, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Dutch.  


Just as Dutch opens his mouth to say something, Charles joins the conversation. “Pardon me for interrupting.” The three of you look at him and see he’s followed by Eagle Flies, son of the Wapiti chief. He’s flanked by Javier and Karen, holding their rifles. He wears a simple, tanned hide shirt and pants, a rifle strapped to his back. The three of you stand up as they approach.  


“Dutch, this is Eagle Flies,” Arthur says, shaking his hand. “His father is a great chief. Charles and I, we erm…”  


“Pretended to be mercenaries,” Eagle Flies finishes for Arthur, looking directly at Dutch. “Did me a great favor.”  


Dutch waves off Javier and Karen, then shakes Eagle Flies’s hand and introduces himself.  


“How’s your father?” Arthur asks.  


Eagle Flies looks at Arthur, his strong jaw set. “Father has confused wisdom with weakness. His people, my people, we’ve suffered too much, been lied to too much. Now they’ve taken our horses.”  


“Who has?” Dutch says.  


Charles steps forward. “The infantry division posted at Fort Wallace.”  


“Colonel Favours is a liar and a murderer,” Eagle Flies says angrily. “His people won’t stop until we’re all dead. Without horses, we cannot hunt, without hunting, we will starve. This is another act of war. Your men helped me before and I have money.” He pulls out a bundle of bills, holding it to Dutch.  


Dutch looks at the money and then back to Eagle Flies, his face unreadable. “Put your money away, son. What do you think, Charles?”  


“You know I told your father I will not fight over some horses,” Charles says to Eagle Flies.  


Dutch pauses and tilts his head, his eyes gleaming. “But I made no such promise.”  


Arthur lifts his hand as though to stop Dutch, who ignores him and walks towards the horses, followed by an intrigued Eagle Flies. Charles turns to Arthur with a worried expression.  


“Arthur, we must go with them. Try to stop things getting out of hand.”  


Arthur nods and starts following Dutch, who has already mounted up, with you and Charles in tow.  


“We can get them more horses,” you say. “A fight shouldn’t be necessary.”  


Arthur looks at you. “I know.”  


“I understand Eagle Flies is angry, but I don’t see how this will help anything,” Charles says.  


“Especially not with Dutch whipping him into a frenzy. We got enough folks coming after us without adding the army to the list.”  


He and Charles mount up and you’re just about to hop into Rannoch’s saddle when Arthur calls your attention.  


“Darlin’, stay here please. I have a feelin’ they want as few people involved as possible.”  


“I helped before, Arthur,” you retort.  


“I know, but do this for me. Please?”  


You sigh and set your foot back down. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”  


He smiles at you. “And I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”  


You begin walking away slowly as Dutch continues ruffling Eagle Flies’s feathers. “You’re going to let these bastards walk all over you? No, you’re not! This is all that’s wrong with the world.”  


“The horses are on a boat near Van Horn. I have a man waiting for us there with some canoes,” Eagle Flies says, cantering down the path, followed by Dutch, Arthur and Charles. You watch them until they’ve long disappeared.  


You turn away, going back to the tent to clean up the uneaten plates of stew. The clearing falls silent again now that Dutch has left. The silence is near unsettling, unnatural and you look around. Everyone seems to be miserable and isolated. Your eyes draw to the cavern and as you stare, it seems to grow wider, the air cooling in a sudden breeze. It threatens to swallow you, forcing you to run over to Rannoch and mount up. Grimshaw hollers at you but you ignore her and speed down the trail away from the horrible clearing.  


Once you’re down past Butcher’s Creek, you stop Rannoch and lean down to rest your head on his neck, patting him as you catch your breath. He snorts softly. You feel incredibly weak, like you have no ability to survive in the clearing without Arthur’s presence.  


“What is wrong with me?” you angrily ask to no one. You think back on when you survived alone after murdering your family; before you met Arthur. It had been so easy to be independent, to not need anyone, but now you can’t seem to do it. Shame rips through you and you force yourself to lean up.  


Looking to the west, you see the sun setting beyond the craggly hills. You figure you need to hunt so you can eat before sleeping, but as you stand next to the Elysian Pool, you recall the sickly animals around it. The lake’s green and brown water draws your eyes, reflecting the sickly appearance of the animals. Here would not be a wise place to hunt, so you head west.  


The trail takes you up into a lush green mountainous region, with smooth gray mounds flowing from the thick grass. Despite the late hour, you decide to try hunting. Just as you’re reaching down to grab your bow, a voice calls out from behind a large boulder.  


“Stop right there!” It’s followed by three men coming out from behind the boulder, rifles pointed at you. Your face grows cold as you notice their appearances: ripped pants or overalls, wild tangled hair, scratched faces and thin limbs. Murfrees.  


“This here’s a robbery, little girl,” one of the men says through brown teeth. He gestures for you to get off your horse with his rifle. Your mind begins to race until you recall what Arthur taught you about what to do when you’re the one being robbed instead of doing the robbing. You comply with the man, dismounting, although you never take your eyes off him. He shoos Rannoch away and approaches you, his rifle aimed.  


“Now don’t do nothin’ and we’ll make this nice and quick,” he says. He stops at an arm’s length from you and you’re prepared for him to search your coat, looking for money or trinkets. Your arm twitches slightly as you prepare to quickly whip out your revolver. When the man is within arm’s reach, his mouth widens in a slimy smile.  


“We was plannin’ to kill you all along!” he hollers and his finger pulls the trigger. Instinctively, you lean to the opposite side of where his rifle’s pointing so he fires into the air and you whip out your gun, shoving it into his ribs and firing. He falls with a loud grunt after splattering you in blood and his companions stop laughing, firing at you. A bullet grazes your upper arm, but you don’t feel the pain of it. You quickly take aim and fire at them both. You hit one in the eye and the other in the chest. The headshot victim falls immediately, but the other clutches his bleeding chest and tries to run, but after a few feet, he collapses, gasping.  


You lower your revolver, breathing heavily. You look down and see you’re soaked in the Murfree’s blood. As the foulness of this sinks in, your arm begins to burn painfully. After holstering your gun, you put a hand on the wound and begin walking towards Rannoch. You whistle for him and he runs over, whinnying. After reaching into his saddle bag, you pull out your tent, setting it up so you can take your shirt off and inspect the wound. Once you do, you see it’s just a shallow cut, but it’s bleeding quite a bit. You take some whiskey and pour it over the wound, making yourself hiss. Once that’s done, you bandage it up, tying it tightly.  


You reach into your satchel to see what food you have and all you find is a can of peaches and a wedge of cheese. You debate on hunting, but after the attack, you’re exhausted and your arm still burns. You’ll be lucky to hold a bow still for even a few seconds like this, so you quickly eat the cheese and peaches. Afterwards, you lie down in your bedroll, still feeling shaky.  


As you begin settling down in your bedroll, images of your past experiences with the Murfrees begin playing. You see the cage they kept you in, another cage with a mutilated corpse, the horrible shrine, a man barely lit by lantern light dragging a screaming man. A Murfree pointing a rifle to Rain’s head. The pain of this memory slams you in the chest and you sit up, planting your head to your knees and rocking back and forth.  


Suddenly you hear footsteps outside your tent. You quickly, pull out your sawed off from your off-hand holster. Another Murfree must have noticed the bodies and seen your tent close by. You wish you had pitched it further away from the scene, but you hadn’t been thinking logically. The footsteps get closer to the front of the tent and you point your gun, your finger on the hammer. The flaps twitch and you pull it down. Arthur’s face suddenly peaks in.  


“Jesus, Arthur!” you hiss, quickly lowering the gun. “Give me a heart attack!”  


“What the hell you doin’ out here?” he says, coming into the tent. “I see them bastards got your arm.”  


You look down at your exposed arm, the bandage clumsy and slightly bloody. “Yeah. I couldn’t be in that clearing anymore.” Your voice cracks, making you feel ashamed of yourself for having lost it a moment ago.  


He sighs and sits down next to you, pulling you into his chest. “I know, sweetheart. I ain’t even had nothin’ bad happen to me there and I hate it.”  


Now that you’re settled into him, you realize how cold you were. You shiver as his heat soaks into you; his hand slides up and down your back, trying to warm you up. After a few moments, the shivering stops. He kisses your head and pats your back.  


“You had anything to eat?” he says quietly.  


“Sort of. Just some cheese and peaches,” you say, trying to sound stronger and braver than you feel.  


“Hmm, that don’t make a very satisfyin’ meal. Come on, I’ll cook ya somethin’.”  


You slide your shirt back on and follow him out of the tent to sit around the fire. As Arthur places two hunks of venison onto the grill to cook, sprinkling some thyme and sage onto them, you wonder how he found you. You hadn’t told anyone where you were going, so you ask him.  


“Ah, after we got the horses back to Eagle Flies, I had to do a job for Strauss.”  


“Strauss?” you demand. He hadn’t asked Arthur for anything for several weeks.  


“Yes. He, uh, wanted me to do more debt collectin’.”  


“Arthur. I thought we both decided you were done.”  


“I know, I know. I asked him to get one of the other fellers to do it, but he said none of ‘em would, and he don’t want Micah to do it no more. Worried he’d kill another debtor. Anyways, I said yes and one of the debtors was out this way. Now, before you get mad, I’m gonna tell ya that I didn’t take the money from the man.”  


“Why not? That’s the point of collecting them, isn’t it?” you say, trying to hide the sourness from your voice.  


“I was gonna, but feller was a deserter of the army. Turns out he deserted ‘cause he married an Indian woman and she was real pregnant. Probably due any day. Well, the army ambushed us and set his wagon on fire. All he had left was some jewelry but I let him keep it. Needs somethin’ to feed his wife and child with.”  


“Okay. Well, I guess that ain’t so bad then. Strauss didn’t ask for anymore, did he?”  


Arthur rubs his neck uncertainly. “One more. A feller named Arthur Londonderry. Miner. I’m hopin’ he ain’t in another bad rut, but based on the people crazy enough to take Strauss’s terms, odds are he is.”  


He pauses for a moment to flip the meat over.  


“Honestly, darlin’,” he continues, “I’m gettin’ tired of Strauss’s jobs. I’m sick of beatin’ and terrifyin’ the desperate people who take money from him. The coal miners, pregnant maids, people who can’t find work.”  


“So then don’t do it, Arthur. Don’t go after this last man and tell Strauss to do it himself.”  


“Maybe. I might just absolve the debt anyways, at least tell the man so. Strauss needs to find another means of gettin’ money for the gang. Robbin’ people proper is more kind, I think.”  


You slide over to sit next to him and wrap your hands around his arm, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I agree, Arthur. But that doesn’t explain how you found me?”  


He smiles. “Well, I was on my way back from that thing after I met a one-legged veteran. Think you’d like him. Anyways, I was comin’ across the path when I spotted those dead Murfress. Saw Rannoch sittin’ by your tent, so knew it was you.”  


“Well, I’m glad you did,” you say, rubbing his arm. You hope he doesn’t notice the desperation in your voice.  


He chuckles and then sighs, pulling his arm from your grip so he can pull the meat off the grill. As you both eat it along with some beans and bread rolls, Arthur asks if you’re okay. You look at him briefly and he’s looking at you the same way he did when he first met you and tied you to a tree, asking why you killed your family. The same feeling of needing to hide pulses throughout your body, making you look away.  


“I’m fine,” you lie.  


He sighs and puts down his tin of beans. “You ain’t gotta hide things from me, darlin’. Thought that was the point of us getting married?”  


“I know, I’m sorry. I just… hate being vulnerable.”  


“Darlin’, I want ya to know that I’m here for ya, always will be. I ain’t gonna blame you for hidin’ what you’re thinkin’ from everyone else, I understand, but I wish ya would open up to me.”  


You look back up at him, his blue eyes seem to be glowing in the firelight. He’s right, of course, but even the idea of being open to someone so they can see who you truly are is an alien concept. Finally you nod.  


“I want to, Arthur. I just… I don’t know how.”  


He sighs and scoots closer to you, putting an arm behind you.  


“Well, maybe I can help ya. Tell me what you feel. Even if it’s somethin’ you don’t understand.”  


You sigh and stare into the fire, thinking how to translate what you’re feeling into words.  


“I guess I… I’m scared, Arthur. Not just of these damn Murfrees or what might happen to us; the gang. Scared because before I met you, I could go for days without any contact with people and I was okay with it. When I was with my parents or my ex-husband, I craved that isolation. Now I can’t go more than a day without seeing you. And don’t even get me started on that clearing and how I can’t stand to be there.” Your eyes are pulled up to the stars as a tear runs down your cheek, afraid he might laugh.  


Arthur sighs again and his hand slides over your shoulder. “Does it make you think you’re weak?”  


Without looking away from the stars, you nod. He asks you why. “Because I was brought up to believe that if you need other people, you’re weak. Only the strong can stand alone.”  


“Sweetheart, that ain’t how it works. It don’t make you weak to ask for help or to need people. Hell, I’d be completely lost if I didn’t have you anymore. Do you think I’m weak for feelin’ that?”  


You look at him finally and shake your head. “You’re the strongest person I know, but you don’t need anybody.”  


“Well, you’re wrong there. I’ve depended on the gang for twenty years, depended on Dutch and Hosea. But more than them, I need you, darlin’. I know I can trust ya with anything, that you’ll always be by my side no matter how things are.”  


He suddenly smiles at you. “To be honest, when I first started havin’ real strong feelings for ya, it scared me, too. And not just because I thought you might do what Mary did or what happened to Eliza and Isaac would happen to you, but because I had never felt that for anyone in my life. It felt weird to need someone that much. So I understand, sweetheart. But I want ya to know that I ain’t ever gonna think of you as weak or pathetic. Ya always have my back. What I think of you is that you’re thoughtful, kind, selfless. What ya are is the person I love most.”  


You hadn’t become aware of doing it, but you’re leaning into him and your hand is on his chest. You feel yourself blush at his words and it makes you smile. Resting your head on his chest, you kiss the part of it that’s slightly exposed beneath his blue shirt.  


“Big chest for a big heart,” you say with a small chuckle, running your hand up his firm body.  


He chuckles as well, his hand on your shoulder rubs gently. “Now you’re talkin’ nonsense.”  


“No, I’m bein’ serious. Never knew such a big, strong man could be so sweet and soft, but I like it. I love you.”  


His lips brush your forehead and you can feel he’s smiling. He whispers gently that he wants to go into the tent and settle down for the night, so you both get up and go inside. Arthur lies down next to you on his side, his back to you. Smiling, you roll over and press yourself to his back, draping your arm over his side to rest on his stomach. His hand grabs yours and squeezes, a soft rumble goes through his back as you lay your head against it and drift off. 

The next day, Arthur takes you back to camp, despite your protests. He says he has to do a job that Micah set for him with Bill in order to get dynamite.  


“Micah’s gettin’ too big for his britches,” Arthur says as he leads you down the trail towards Beaver Hollow. “He’s startin’ to act like he’s the boss.”  


Once you’re back in camp, you get down to helping a rather intoxicated Pearson cook dinner. You push him down to sit to avoid him vomiting into the pot and go to chopping vegetables and meat. As Arthur approaches Bill, Grimshaw stops him to tell him he’s received a letter. He goes to get it and is reading it as he walks over to you.  


“Who’s it from?” you ask.  


He doesn’t answer immediately. “Penelope Braithewaite.”  


“Huh?” you say. “Why she writing to you? We haven’t had anything to do with her family since that mess with Jack.”  


“I know. She’s askin’ for my help in gettin’ her and Beau out of Rhodes. Sounds like they’re in a mess. You wanna come? Imagine they’d like you, and they’re good people, despite their families.”  


“Sure,” you say, leaning on the table. “Come get me when your job with Bill is over and we can go.”  


“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smile. He leans down to kiss you briefly and then Bill calls him.  


“Morgan! You gonna smooch your future missus all day or we gonna get this done?”  


“A’right, a’right, I’m comin’.” He throws you a wink and heads off with Bill.  


For the next hour, you continue cooking for Pearson, even adding a few extra seasonings, trying to give the gang an excuse to be in a better mood. However, with the lack of donations coming in, the ingredients you have to work with are slim with little variety. Luckily, with all the hunting you and Arthur have been doing, there’s plenty of meat.  


After what Arthur said to you last night, you feel a little better about being in the clearing. Although it’s still ugly and the cavern still sits on the edge like a permanent reminder to how bad things are, it no longer threatens to swallow you. Despite being vulnerable with Arthur, you feel stronger.  


Micah saunters over as you cook, coughing a little. “Ah, the future Mrs. Morgan ready to prove how useless she’ll be as a wife.”  


“Fuck off, Micah,” you say, not even looking up.  


“Now that ain’t no way to talk to me, girl. I’m workin’ my ass off with Dutch to get us out of here, somewhere better, and you can’t even offer a nice word.”  


“And what about you, Micah?” you snarl. “You ain’t ever offered a nice comment to no one except Dutch. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you offered to wash his feet if you felt it would benefit you in any way.”  


“Keep talkin’ that way,” he says, leaning on the table and putting his face inches from you. “And you’ll wake up with Morgan’s head in your bed.”  


Without thinking, you take the knife in your hand and slam the tip into the table, centimeters away from his thumb. “Give me a reason, Micah, and I’ll cut off more than just your finger.”  


He smiles, taking his hands off the table. “Always liked that fight in ya.” He walks away.  


You finish cooking as quick as you can, not wanting to give Micah another chance to antagonize you. Finally, you heave the pot with its pitiful stew over the fire and call everyone over to eat.  


Not long after you set out the stew, Bill and Arthur return. Arthur quickly reports in to Dutch, telling him the dynamite is safely stashed somewhere. Dutch nods approvingly as he smokes a cigar.  


Arthur comes over to you, looking somewhat irritated.  


“What is it?” you ask, finishing packing up a few provisions into your satchel in your tent. “Ah, nothin’. Pinkertons are all over Van Horn and Annesburg now. Result of us killin’ Cornwall.”  


“Great. So much for them easing off of us without Cornwall filling their pockets.”  


“Exactly. Anyways, you ready to go?”  


You nod and quickly mount Rannoch, riding out of camp without even bothering to eat. On the way, you tell Arthur about what happened with Micah.  


“Like I said,” he says, “he’s gettin’ too big for his britches. Now how about you don’t give him a reason to come after you? Man’s unstable enough.”  


You both ride on south as the sun sets. Arthur decides to stop and camp for the night on the border of New Hanover and Lemoyne. In the morning, you wake to find him sitting up, a strange expression on his face.  


“What is it?” you say groggily.  


“Nothin’,” he replies, pulling you into his lap.  


“Arthur,” you shake yourself awake. “Now don’t you start hidin’ things from me.”  


He smiles, rubbing your arm but being careful to avoid your cut.  


“I just… had more of them dreams last night.”  


“What dreams?”  


“Of a big ol’ buck. Just drinking from a lake. I wish I could figure out what it means.”  


You sigh into his chest. “I don’t know, honey. But what do the dreams make you feel?”  


He pauses for a moment, his eyes far away. “Well, they make me feel like… like we’re gonna be okay. Like things are gonna get better somehow. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”  


“Sounds like they might be a good thing, Arthur. Who knows? Maybe it’s your spirit animal.”  


“Don’t joke, darlin’. Come on, let’s go help these kids.”  


You chuckle and crawl out of his lap. After a quick breakfast, Arthur leads you down the trails towards Braithewaite manor, or what’s left of it. The mansion is nothing but a blackened husk with a few broken pillars still standing. The two of you sneak past it, heading to the edge of the lake where small cabins line it.  


“She said she’d be by the boat house,” Arthur explains, dismounting Artemis next to it. You follow him around the building and find a rather pretty young woman sitting on a bench, dressed in a smart, blue dress with a top hat sat on her blonde locks. She looks up at the sound of your approaching feet. When she recognizes Arthur, she shoots up to her feet.  


“Oh you came!” She shakes his hand and then reaches down for a small bag.  


“I came,” Arthur says.  


“Thank you you lovely man! Ah, may I ask who your companion is?”  


“My apologies.” Arthur puts his hand on your shoulder and Penelope offers to shake your hand. You take it, smiling and tipping your hat to her. “Penelope Braithewaite, this is Y/F/N. She is my future wife.”  


“Oh that’s wonderful, Mr. Morgan! I’m so happy for ya both! I myself am hoping to become an engaged woman, but that all depends on today’s success.” She releases your hand and then peaks around the corner of the boat house back to the other cabins, as though worried someone is watching. “Now come on, we ain’t got a minute to lose.” She turns back to Arthur, looking worried. “They killed her! They killed Ms. Calhoon! All she wanted was a better life for women and they killed her, those pigs.”  


“Who killed her?” Arthur asks.  


“I don’t know! My cousins probably or… or Beau’s. They’re monsters! Can you please take me to the train station? Beau will be waitin’.”  


“Why couldn’t he come rescue you?”  


“If they saw me and him together they’d lynch him and send me to a nunnery. Or maybe they’d lynch both us, I don’t know, they do like hangin’ folk.” She peaks around the corner again  


“Where you headed?” you ask.  


“Up to boston.”  


“Good,” Arthur says. “They’ll like you up there.”  


Arthur begins walking towards the horses and you and Penelope follow him. Arthur offers Artemis’s back to her and she hops up nimbly, despite the dress. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed. Arthur kicks Artemis into a canter and you follow, skirting around the cold, black remains of the mansion.  


“So Beau’s just waiting at the station?” Arthur says to Penelope. “In the hope you’ll show up? Or I’ll show up to help you show up?”  


“He goes there every day he can, makes up some excuse or other. I said he would see me there one day soon, and today he will, God willing.”  


“Well, if he’s there, that’s true love alright.”  


As the horses run, Penelope explains that she hasn’t seen Beau since the rally. You recall back in Clemens Point Karen and Mary-Beth discussing a women’s suffrage march. She continues to say how awful things have been since the house burned down and the Gray’s were murdered in town. By the way she talks, you realize that she has no clue Arthur was involved in both those things. The yellow train station comes to view just as Penelope says, “Something good must come from this awful, awful feud.”  


Arthur stops Artemis and Penelope slides off. She looks up towards the doors of the station. You follow where her eyes go and spot a young man with thick, dirty blond locks, reading a newspaper.  


“There he is! It’s him!” Penelope says excitedly. She turns to you and Arthur. “Will you ride on the train with us a little, just to the first stop?”  


“Fine,” Arthur grumbles. You can tell he’s still worried about the gang. You are, too. There’s a lot of work to be done still. You take his hand in yours.  


Penelope runs towards the young man. When he sees her, his face cracks into a wide smile and he opens his arms, to which she jumps into.  


“You came! At last, you came!” He says, letting her go.  


“Oh, Beau, my best of men, of course I came!”  


“I’m hardly a man at all, but I love you Penelope Braithewaite.” Beau grabs her hand.  


“Beau, Arthur and his fiance are gonna join us. I think we need the support.” She asks Arthur to buy the tickets, explaining they can’t risk being seen. He nods, still seeming slightly irritated. You pat his arm as the four of you go into the station. Arthur stops to buy the tickets and you accompany Beau and Penelope outside to wait near the tracks.  


“I’m very sorry,” Beau says to you, offering a hand. Penelope’s are wrapped around his other arm. You shake it. “I’m afraid I ain’t properly introduced myself. Beau Gray.”  


“Yes, I came to that conclusion. Y/N.”  


He lets your hand go. “Your good Arthur has helped Penelope and I quite a bit. Why, I ain’t too sure where we’d be without his help.”  


You’re just about to say something when you notice two men, one fat and short and the other tall and skinny, looking angrily at Beau.  


“Hey, boy!” the fat one says, approaching Beau. “What you doin’ here, and with a Braithewaite no less!” He and the skinny one grab him as Penelope shrieks for them to let him go. You go to the fat one and start trying to yank him off. You’re just about to pull out your revolver when Arthur barges through the door. He pulls Penelope off and tells her to get on the train. He yells at you to follow her onto the train, which you do as he begins punching the skinny one.  


“Who are those fellers?” you ask Penelope as you stand near a couple rows of seats.  


“Those are Beau’s horrible cousins. I’d say more about them, but with how my own family is, I ain’t got much room to talk.”  


You both peak outside just as Arthur knocks out the skinny one. The fat one throws Beau down and goes to beat up Arthur. Beau dashes on board and stands next to Penelope as Arthur starts fighting the fat man.  


“I was worried my cousins might find me here,” he says a bit breathlessly.  


“Well, at least Arthur’s here to cover you,” you say, still watching as your future husband slams the fat man’s head against the wall, knocking him out. Arthur quickly runs on board, massaging his bruised knuckles.  


“That is quite a family you got there, son,” Arthur says to Beau, coming to a stop next to you.  


“I know, charming to the last. Then again, my uncle used to keep his own half-brother as a slave, so what do you expect? Good manners?” Beau and Penelope sit down, Arthur slides into a seat next to the window and you sit next to him. He drapes his arm across the back of the seat behind you so he can talk to the others.  


“My uncle used to say things were better the way they were when you could rape and kill with impunity and he didn’t have to work a day in his life,” Penelope says.  


“Both our families,” Beau agrees. “There’s good people in this county but our families bullied them and drove most of em off. All over this silly feud.”  


Arthur starts leaning his back against the wall, looking as though he’s ready to take a nap. You smile at him and that’s when you see a large troupe of men on horses following the train. Penelope and Beau see them as well.  


“Oh my Lord,” Beau says quietly.  


Penelope gasps. “Oh I think it’s my second cousin!”  


Arthur leans up and looks outside. He pushes you off the seat so he can stand up. “What is it with all these goddamn cousins?” he says.  


You pull out your revolver and sawed off. “Come on, Arthur. We can take ‘em.”  


“I think they found out about the jewels,” Penelope explains, her hands clasping her bag. Arthur sighs and tells them to keep their heads down as you both run to the next car, which happens to be a flatbed, laden with crates and barrels. You and Arthur hunch down beneath some of the crates and open fire on the Braithewaites chasing the train.  


Arthur shoots two of them in the head and then hunches down to reload. As he does, you hear him grumble. “She must have all the jewels in the state with all these cousins! She robbed her own family blind!”  


“Good for her, I guess,” you say, killing another rider.  


For the next few moments, you and Arthur take down several more riders. Just as the last one falls, the train begins to slow.  


“What the hell?” Arthur says. He holsters his pistols and you follow him back into the car where the other two wait.  


“Are we being robbed?” a woman in the back says. You and Arthur ignore her, going to Beau and Penelope. Just as you reach them, a man, dressed like the engineer, dashes past the window on foot. The others see him too.  


“I think that’s the driver!” Beau says.  


“Hold on, I’ll go check,” Arthur says and he runs up to the front of the train. You stay with Penelope and Beau just in case anymore of Penelope’s cousins show up. You take a seat just as the train begins moving again, but Arthur doesn’t return.  


“Quite charming families ya both got,” you say, resting your back against the wall. “Bein’ in your place, I probably would’ve robbed them, too.”  


Penelope offers you a small smile. “Well, what about your family, miss Y/N?”  


“Ah, they’re all dead. Been dead more than a year now.”  


“I don’t know whether to apologize or not, ma’am,” Beau says.  


“I wouldn’t apologize if I were you,” you say, giving him a sly smile. “They’re dead by my hand. My previous husband, too.”  


“I take it they didn’t see things the way you did?” Penelope asks.  


“Nah. They were, well, I guess a bit like yours. Felt that loyalty was something to be freely given through nothing more than a similarity in surnames but did nothing to earn it. My father, the bastard, paid a man to marry me and that man beat me almost everyday and raped me near as often. I ain’t never known a proper family life.”  


“Well, Mr. Arthur seems like a good man,” Penelope says. “Told me he never really had a family before neither. Maybe ya can both teach each other what it’s like to have one.”  


“Well I certainly hope so. I still don’t know why he decided he wanted to keep me around for the rest of his life, but I’m grateful he did.”  


The train heads on further west, rolling over the broad river on a bridge called Bard’s Crossing. It travels further into West Elizabeth and then curves north, approaching Riggs Station slowly. It stops near the station and Arthur comes back into the car. Beau, Penelope and you stand up.  


“Mr. Arthur, why have we stopped?” Beau asks.  


“It’s best you go it alone from here. Take a stage,” Arthur explains. He gestures for them to head off the train and then takes your hand.  


“I didn’t know you could drive a train,” you say.  


“Neither did I, but if I’m honest, it was kind of fun and I didn’t kill any of us. Well, I killed some of their relatives, but they would have killed all of us.” The four of you get off the train and Beau turns to Arthur.  


“You are a gentleman, sir!”  


“No, I ain’t.”  


“Yes you are. Here, I ain’t got much money, but,” Penelope reached into her bag and pulls out a gold bracelet covered in blue jewels, “these sapphires are worth a lot of money. Old family heirloom.”  


Arthur huffs and picks up the bracelet, holding it up to the light. “That Braithewaite treasure. I couldn’t take it.”  


He hands the bracelet back to Penelope, who drops it into her bag.  


“Now,” Arthur continues, “let’s get you off to Boston before any more of your relatives show up.”  


Arthur guides them over to a stage sitting on the path, the driver sleeping in the top seat. He drops your hand and climbs onto the stage, waking the driver. “Hey, this couple is heading north, to the Boston line. They got money, they’ll pay you on arrival.”  


As Beau opens the door for Penelope to climb in, Arthur asks the driver, “You carry protection on a journey like this?”  


“Wouldn’t be much of a stage driver if I didn’t. Goes everywhere I do.” He suddenly cries out in protest as Arthur reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out his pistol.  


“Miss Braithewaite is gonna hold onto this until arrival.”  


The driver sighs in irritation, waving his hands as he turns to the front. Arthur climbs down and hands the pistol to Penelope. “On account of the treasure on your person.”  


“I don’t know how to thank you,” she says as she climbs into the coach, the pistol tucked into her bag.  


“You’re a fine man, sir,” Beau says and climbs in after her. Arthur closes the door and waves to them as the stage drives off. Penelope sticks her head out and yells, 

“Congratulations on your engagement!” You wave back to her with a smile as Arthur takes your hand again.  


“A’right, darlin’,” he says quietly once the stage has disappeared. “We need to go to Saint Denis.”  


“Why?” you ask. You haven’t been down there since the attempted bank robbery.  


“Dutch and Sadie wanna meet us there, keep sayin’ there’s somethin’ we need to see to. Don’t know what, Dutch wasn’t really talkin’ much.”  


“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”  


He smiles at you and then mounts up on Artemis, you following on Rannoch. He takes you to Valentine, where you both hop onto another train and go down to the city. When you step off, you look around, disgusted. You thought this city was foul before, but now it’s repellant, tainted. Arthur grabs your hand and guides you over to where the horses are being unloaded from a train car.  


After mounting up, you go to the old tavern where you and Arthur had met Sadie before going on the hot air balloon ride. As soon as you walk in, you can hear Dutch talking.  


“Looking like a lady won’t help us if you’re not going to act like one,” Dutch says gruffly.  


“I’m fine,” Sadie snaps. They’re both leaning on the bar, not drinking. “Don’t worry about me.”  


Dutch turns at the sound of the door opening and spots you both. “There you are.” He puts his cigar out in an ashtray.  


“Here we are,” Arthur says, his hand folded around yours.  


“Today is a great day, Mr. Morgan,” Sadie says, glaring at her untouched bottle of beer. “Today they’re hangin’ Colm O’Driscoll.”  


Arthur says. “I guess that’s why we’re here in this godforsaken city. But there’s one problem.”  


“And what is that, Arthur?” Dutch asks grumpily as he leads the three of you to the back of the saloon.  


“That boy’s been on the gallows more than most,” Arthur says. “I won’t count nothin’ until his neck’s broke.”  


“Well, nor would I,” Dutch reaches behind the door of a small room and pulls out a large sack. He grabs you and Sadie and shoves you both into the room.  


“What the hell are we doing in here?” you say as Sadie reaches into another large bag.  


“We can’t go to his hangin’ lookin’ like ourselves,” she says, pulling out a yellow dress. She reaches inside and grabs a red one, throwing it to you. “We gotta go disguised.”  


You sigh but decide not to argue. Although the last thing on your list to worry about is the O’Driscolls, seeing Colm hung is something you’re not going to miss. You toss the corset and petticoat into the corner, always having hated wearing them, and slip into the red dress. Sadie smooths down the waist of her yellow dress and then reaches into the sack again, pulling out broad sun hats, throwing you the red one. After making sure you look decent, you and Sadie leave the room.  


Arthur and Dutch inspect you quickly, nodding their approval before heading into the room themselves to change. A few moments later, they come back out, wearing the thick wool uniforms of policemen.  


“So first you were a deputy of Rhodes,” you say, brushing his shoulder lightly, “and now you’re a lawman?”  


“Shut up,” he says, although he’s smiling. He looks at the tall, bowled hat in his gloved hands. “This is ridiculous.”  


“Come on, Arthur,” Dutch says, heading to the back door with Sadie. You and Arthur follow him out to the back alleyway as Arthur puts on his hat. You fall in behind Sadie, Arthur tailing the group as Dutch leads the way.  


“We need to keep our weapons holstered,” he says as heads down the winding alley, “our disguises on and our wits about us.”  


“Mrs. Adler, Ms. Y/L/N,” Arthur says, “might I say, being fancy women of Saint Denis suits you both.”  


“I’d dress up like the Queen of Sheba if it meant seeing that son of a bitch swing,” Sadie growls.  


“Colm hung me up,” Arthur says, “nearly butchered me, that don’t mean I’m comfortable in this woolen coat.”  


“You made it outta that predicament, as I remember Mr. Morgan. My husband weren’t so lucky.”  


“You lost your husband,” Dutch says gravely. “I lost my darling Annabelle. Y/N nearly lost her future husband. That poor boy, Kieran. We’ve all lost something because of Colm. That is why we will shepherd him into eternity.”  


You smooth down your skirt nervously, unconvinced that you look okay. “I just want this over with. These bastards have been a thorn in our sides for too long.”  


“Now keep those fingers off those triggers ‘cause we’ll need cool heads and calm dispositions to see this done,” Dutch says as the main street comes into view.  


“Practice what you preach, brother,” Arthur growls.  


“What are you talking about, Arthur?” Dutch spits.  


“Are you going to keep your cool? Really? When you seem to lose it, oh so often now.”  


You find Arthur’s comments strange. While he’s been questioning Dutch’s motives since returning from Guarma, he’s only voiced his worries to you in private. To see him calling Dutch out openly now is odd, especially when in the past you’d heard Arthur say he’d happily die for the gang, always the most loyal man to Dutch’s commands. You wonder what happened to finally cause their relationship to snap like this.  


“This doubting and questioning of yours,” Dutch says. “I miss the old Arthur. The one who had no woman on his arm, but a rifle and unwavering loyalty before.”  


You feel the sting of Dutch’s comment. You understand now what Arthur meant that he might try to attack you. You recall the look on his face when Arthur announced your engagement, the smoldering glare hidden beneath a fake smile. It makes you nervous to think of it now when Dutch has been so easy to rile up lately.  


“Hey, don’t blame this on Y/N,” Arthur snarls. “It’s your recent actions that have been makin’ me question, she ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”  


“Whatever you say, Arthur.”  


“Can we get back to makin’ sure Colm swings?” Sadie barks as the group heads on down the street as casual as possible. “We all got a job to do, and we’re all in rough agreement about how we’re doing it.”  


“Exactly,” you agree, trying to sound more confident than you feel.  


Dutch grumbles something as the group heads on towards a stone square where the gallows sit. A crowd has gathered beneath it, waiting expectantly. Three men stand on the gallows, one of them with his hands bound behind his back and a cloth over his head. It must be Colm.  


“Don’t the public just love an execution,” Dutch says quietly as you approach the square. He stops by the entrance, his back facing a brick column. You and Sadie stop near him and Arthur stands by the other column, looking into it. Dutch folds his hands in front of him, pulling his disguise together perfectly.  


“Now, you see those three assholes?” he says, gesturing with a nod of his chin to three men standing inside the square, playfully punching each other as though this were a carnival and not a public hanging. “They’re Colm’s boys. What a surprise. I’m glad we’re here.”  


You and the others study them for a few seconds. One of the men points up to a building across the street, focusing on the roof and says something to his companions. Dutch follows where he points, his jaw set. “What are they pointing at?”  


“I don’t know,” Arthur says. “We should follow ‘em, try and find out.”  


As if on queue, one of the men walks out of the square right between Arthur and Dutch. They lower their heads, scratching their faces, but the man seems oblivious to them as he walks down the street on the left.  


Dutch takes a step forward and commands you both to stay put. Arthur looks at you and Sadie, his eyes gentle. “Don’t do nothin’,” he says and follows Dutch. They disappear down the street as you and Sadie stand by the columns.  


“I been waitin’ for this day a long time,” Sadie growls under her breath.  


“Like Dutch said,” you say as you watch the two remaining O’Driscolls. “We’ve all lost something to these assholes. They nearly robbed me, tried to hold me for ransom, too. Only Arthur was the faster shot.”  


“You and Arthur got lucky,” she snaps, watching them as well. “Arthur got out while my husband was shot in the head. Not only that, they only robbed you while they did worse to me.”  


“This ain’t a competition over who got the worse end of the stick, Sadie. These bastards need to be taken down. Remember what this is about: preventing them from doing what they did to us to more people in the future. No more widows and orphans because of Colm O’Driscoll.”  


“There won’t be. Not after today. Even if these morons fail to hang him, I’ll kill him myself.”  


“I don’t think anyone would stop you, neither.”  


The sheriff of the city police suddenly steps up onto the gallows and raises his hand, calling for silence from the muttering crowd. “Fair citizens of Saint Denis. For as long as any of us can remember, it is justice that separates us from barbary. Yet justice itself can, at times, be barbaric. For sometimes a man is so savage, the only way to deal with him justly is through savagery. Colm O’Driscoll is one such man.”  


The cloth draped over the man’s head is whipped off, revealing Colm’s sweaty face. You’ve never seen him this close, but he’s an oily, foul man with a clever grin. Two officers march him onto the main gallows just in front of the noose just as Dutch rejoins your side. Arthur is nowhere in sight. You look at the building where the O’Driscolls had been pointing and see a familiar figure in an officer’s suit standing on the roof, a long rifle in his hand. If you hadn’t noticed where the O’Driscolls had been pointing, you would never know Arthur was there.  


The sheriff continues on speaking to the crowd, listing out Colm’s crimes as the officers place the noose around his neck. “Today,” the sheriff calls out, “justice catches up with him.”  


Colm sneers at the crowd, looking confident. “As well you may,” he says in a voice as oily and stringy as his hair. “I been a bad man.”  


One of the officers quickly ties a cloth around his face, stuffing it into his mouth, preventing him from speaking.  


“This is not a court where you shall be tried,” the sheriff continues. “This is a place where your sentence is to be carried out.”  


The O’Driscoll whom Dutch and Sadie followed rejoins his companions. Dutch, Sadie and you follow him. Luckily they stand in the back of the crowd. You grab one of them by the throat, whipping out your sawed off and pointing it at his head just as Sadie and Dutch grab the other two, doing the same. The man in your grasp grunts and you hiss in his ear, “Don’t you damn move.”  


“Colm O’Driscoll,” the sheriff says. “You are to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.”  


Colm is the only man to notice the situation with his men. His eyes widen nervously and he looks at a point high above your head to where he must see Arthur. His face pales as the sheriff continues speaking. Even from the distance between you and him, you can see he’s beginning to panic, coming to the realization that this is truly the end for him.  


“Gentlemen,” the sheriff says, “are we ready?” The two men nod as Colm stares ahead, terrified. “Colm O’Driscoll, may God, in his infinite wisdom, have mercy upon your soul.” The sheriff beckons to a man standing next to the lever as the crowd calls out approvingly. The man pulls the lever and the floor drops beneath Colm’s feet. He falls and jerks to a stop, his body squirming only for a few seconds before dangling still, his neck broken.  


Sadie hisses beside you into the ear of the man she threatens, “Now you know what it feels like to watch someone you love die.” She pauses and stares at Colm’s body. Anger seems to flow from her like waves as she screams out, “You ruined my life!”  


Without warning, her knife slices across the man’s throat. She pulls out her pistol and shoots first your prisoner in the head and then Dutch’s. People in the square scream and bolt, running from the sound as Sadie shoots towards the gallows at the alarmed policemen. Dutch grabs her, hollering and dragging her towards the wall forming the square. 

You follow, tossing the sawed off into your left hand and whipping out your revolver with the other.  


From around the corner of the square, more O’Driscolls appear, shooting towards the three of you.  


“Morgan!” Dutch yells as you take cover behind a tree. “If you can hear us, take a shot!”  


A loud shot rings out in response, a stream of blood shooting out from the temple of an O’Driscoll running right for you. A huge fight breaks out between you, the O’Driscolls and the police. Dutch keeps a firm grip on Sadie’s arm as she fires upon the O’Driscolls, you shoot into the crowd as well until you realize it would be better to let the others take each other out, allowing you to pick off the stragglers. You holler this to Dutch and he nods in your direction, hunching down behind the cart.  


The air is filled with the sounds of guns firing, more men fall as Arthur continues firing upon the O’Driscolls. As more of them die and the police head off towards the survivors, you, Dutch and Sadie move up closer to the street. As you approach the edge of the square, a cart rolls up with an O’Driscoll manning a gatling gun. Just as he begins to fire, his body is thrown forward as Arthur’s bullet plunges into his back.  


As the gatling gun falls silent, the few remaining O’Driscolls scurry off into the city, pursued by the last few officers left standing.  


“The cart,” Dutch says. “Move. Now!”  


You and Sadie run over to it, hopping in and Dutch takes the reins. “Well, we got him. Let’s get out of here.” He waves to Arthur, beckoning for him to get lost. You look back and see Arthur returning the wave before disappearing as the cart begins to move.  


Dutch drives back to Beaver Hollow, throwing off the officer’s coat and hat. You take the large, feathered hat from your head and toss it into a muddy puddle as the cart leaves the city behind.  


“Ah, I have been wanting to see this day for many years,” Dutch says, whipping the horses to go faster.  


“That bastard got what he deserved,” Sadie growls beside him.  


“At least now he won’t be a problem,” you sigh heavily.  


The rest of the ride is quiet and uneventful. Still, when Beaver Hollow comes into view, your heart sinks. Dutch pulls the cart to a stop and hops out, retreating to his tent where Micah dutifully awaits him. Sadie leaves, tugging at her sleeves, leaving you to unhitch the horses.  


Just as you’re removing the bridle from the last of the two horses, Arthur pulls up on Artemis with Rannoch in tow. He hitches them up and walks over to you.  


“Glad that’s dealt with,” he says quietly. You nod in agreement, throwing the bridle to the ground.  


Tilly walks over. “How you both get on?”  


“Well, we saw the bastard hang okay,” Arthur says, “but it ain’t gonna save us, I guess. It’s at least one less thing to worry about.”  


Tilly nods and then she stares at him hard. It’s only now you see she has what looks like an envelope in her hand. “A letter came for you,” she says to Arthur, handing it to him. “I know it’s from that Mary. She ain’t worth it, Arthur.”  


Your heart drops at the name. Arthur’s face has become oddly blank as he takes the letter. With everything going on, you’ve forgotten all about her. Not only that, you thought that the one time you met her and slapped her in the face, the message that Arthur was yours had become clear. Arthur thanks Tilly and she walks away.  


“Arthur,” you say, your voice cracking.  


“I know, darlin’.” He finally looks at you. “Listen, I want ya to read this with me. I want ya to know that no matter what it says, my place is with you.”  


He offers you his hand, which you take, and guides you to the tent. After sitting on the cot, he rips open the envelope and tips it so the letter and something small falls out. He catches the object and holds it up. It’s a gold ring with a small, purple stone set into it. Along with the letter is a photograph of a young Mary standing in front of a young Arthur. You study his portrait’s face. He lacked a beard or any stubble and his hair was slicked back. Even then, he was handsome.  


Arthur places the ring on the cot and folds open the letter, reading it aloud. The letter says she is happy for him for finally finding someone who makes him happy, although you’re sure she’s full of crap. She then reprimands him for possibly being involved in a bloody shoot out involving the city trolley in Saint Denis. She writes that when she had been with him, life seemed bliss but she regretted seeing him in the first place all those weeks ago. She had the audacity to write: “There’s a good man within you, Arthur, but he’s wrestling with a giant. And the giant wins, time and time again. You’ve broken my heart again. For that, you must let me go. I enclose a ring you gave me many years ago when we were both young, not because I don’t like it, but because I care for you too much. I hope by returning it to you I can finally be free and that it brings your fiance happiness. Good bye.”  


By the time Arthur is finished reading the letter, his hands are shaking. You can’t blame him. How dare she say those things, acting like you’re Arthur’s second option? He puts the letter down and picks up the ring and the photo.  


“Goddamn it, Mary,” Arthur growls. “She just had to have the last word.”  


“She writes as though she expects us to be married for a year before one of us gets killed or runs off,” you mutter angrily.  


“That’s probably what she wants, darlin’. Then she can go back to usin’ me the way she did before.” He grabs your hand and squeezes it, leaning his shoulder into you, as though knowing you’re comparing yourself to her again. “That ain’t gonna happen, sweetheart. I’d choose you any day over her. Never once have you made me feel bad about my life or tried to make me change. And the fact that we’ve been engaged this long and you’re still around surprises me.” He laughs lightly, making you smile. “Point is, Mary’s tryin’ to plant doubt in my head, or maybe both our heads. Don’t let her.”  


He squeezes your hand again and then looks down at the ring in his hand, fumbling it between his fingers.  


“It wasn’t your mother’s, was it?” you asked, your eyes flickering over to the flower in a glass jar on the table. You know that was his mother’s favorite species, which is why he’s kept it so long.  


“No, darlin’. When… when I was 19, Mary had a real big fight with her daddy. Don’t remember what for, but her way of gettin’ back at him was to ask me to marry her. I agreed, of course. I went and bought this ring a few days later.”  


Hosea had told you this story shortly before Arthur asked you to marry him, but you let him tell it.  


“We set the date only a few weeks after we decided to get married and, well, a day or two before the wedding I got a letter from her sayin’ she couldn’t break her daddy’s heart like that, marryin’ a criminal. Few months later, I found out she was married to someone else.”  


“Arthur,” you say, clutching his hand. “She was never good enough for you.”  


He looks at you, his hand folding the ring as if he’s trying to crush it. “I got lucky with you, darlin’, but I don’t deserve ya.”  


“Oh, shush,” you say, putting a hand on his cheek and kissing him gently. When you pull away, he smiles and then flings the ring behind him; it flies towards the river and out of sight.


	26. Seeking Forgiveness

Warnings: swearing  


Word count: ~6800

You stir awake in the morning, the sunlight streaming through the leaves amidst the song of birds. If you weren’t stuck in this horrible clearing of Beaver Hollow, you’d enjoy this moment. You reach for Arthur, but your hand falls onto the cot. Opening your eyes, you see he’s not there, nor is he in the tent. Upon further inspection of the camp, you find he’s left camp entirely, but he had neglected to tell anyone where he was going or what he was doing.  


Not wanting to be trapped here alone again, you head over to Rannoch with the intention to leave. An obstacle appears in the form of Grimshaw. Turns out Pearson’s too drunk to cook again and everyone liked whatever you had done to the stew a few days ago, so she wants you to make it again. You almost tell her no and that you’re going out to do a job, but the thought of bringing in at least one good thing to camp stops you. Sighing, you nod and go to the table.  


The day passes slowly as you prepare the stew, using what ingredients you can. Sadie marches passed with a repeater in hand, prepared to take guard duty. She gives you a brief greeting, which you return. Javier walks by, staring at you coldly. It surprises you.  


“Hello, Javier,” you say lightly, trying to sound neutral.  


“Y/N. There are rumors that you and Arthur have been going behind Dutch’s back. This is the time we need to stick with him.”  


“Who’s saying these rumors?” you demand. “And where’s the proof?”  


“You two have hardly been in camp, and after that thing with John. All Dutch asks is for us to be loyal.”  


“And where’s his loyalty to us?” you snap. “We are the ones risking our necks to get us out there, all Dutch does is sit in his tent and talk about a plan he hasn’t bothered to share with any of us. So where’s the loyalty to the ones doing the real work?”  


Javier glares at you. “That isn’t the way it works, Y/N. Maybe if you had been more often or been with us longer, you’d understand.”  


He stalks away, leaving you shaken. You’ve always been on good terms with Javier, yet here he is acting like you’re the one causing all the trouble. Turning back to cutting up the rabbit on the table in front of you, you wonder if he’s just frustrated and taking it out on you.  


Charles wanders over to the table an hour after your interaction with Javier. He stops for a moment, not saying anything until you greet him.  


“Hello, Y/N. I’ve asked Arthur to help out Rains Fall. Think he mentioned you met him.”  


“Yes, of course. Did he agree?”  


“He did. Just thought you might like to know.”  


You thank him and he sits down next to the table, offering you his company which you heartily agree to, glad for some of it.  


“I’m sorry that all these horrible things have been happening. I’m sure you’d rather be planning on a wedding with Arthur, not an escape plan to Tahiti or Australia or wherever.”  


“Well, one thing at a time,” you say, reaching for a carrot. “Yes, I’d love it if Arthur and I could sit down for five minutes without feeling like we need to be worried about everyone else. Set a date, at least. But it can wait, Arthur and I aren’t going anywhere so we can deal with the wedding later.”  


He nods and rubs his chin. You notice his hair, the sides of his head shaven away. You want to ask him why but decide not to, figuring it has something to do with the recent losses everyone has suffered. For the next little while, Charles helps to lift your spirits as you talk.  


Dutch and Micah end up leaving by midday, claiming they need to go and investigate something to do with a bridge near Cotorra Springs. You sigh, feeling like a part of the heavy cloud that has been looming over everyone’s heads has gone with them.  


Early afternoon and Arthur returns to camp, looking angry. Charles nods to you and then gets up to leave, figuring Arthur will probably come talk to you. You wait patiently as Arthur dismounts, but he doesn’t head over. Instead, he goes to the opposite side of the clearing where Strauss sits on a boulder. He looks up at Arthur and even from where you stand, you can see his lizardish grin. He says something to Arthur, but his back is to you so you can’t see his face.  


Suddenly Arthur grabs Strauss by the shoulder and yanks him to his feet. He marches Strauss across the clearing and towards Strauss’s tent. You aren’t the only one to stop and watch as most of the others have done the same.  


“Vhat are you doing?” Strauss demands as they reach his tent.  


“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Arthur growls. “Get your bag.” He grabs it and starts throwing some of Strauss’s possessions into it. Strauss watches him, clutching his ledger.  


“I don’t understand,” he says in a surprisingly calm voice.  


“I ain’t gonna kill ya, though I probably should.” Arthur stands up, still holding the bag. He glares at the other. “You disgust me, and you shame us, if we could be more ashamed than we already are.”  


He tears Strauss’s ledger away from him and throws it to the ground, shoving the bag into Strauss’s arms. “That should do. Now go.”  


Strauss is forced to walk backwards as Arthur marches towards him, his eyes boring into Strauss with intense anger.  


“I don’t understand you,” Strauss begs. “Vhat are you doing?”  


Arthur grabs his shoulders again and takes him towards the horses, finally pushing him to the path. “Go and get a job!”  


Strauss turns and stares at him, taking a few steps forward. “I vas your friend, Herr Morgan.”  


“You and me, we ain’t decent, but those folk. They was.” Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out a bundle of bills. He quickly counts them and then tosses them to Strauss’s feet. “Take that and get lost.”  


Strauss hesitates, but then he bends down and picks up the money. When he straightens up, he points to Arthur. “I’m-”  


“Leaving,” Arthur cuts him off.  


Strauss gives him a sad look but then turns away and walks down the path, his head hung low. Arthur watches him leave, breathing hard. You wipe your hands off and quickly join his side as the others begin going back to their chores. “Arthur. What was that?”  


He sighs and finally looks at you. “It was time, Y/N. We don’t need filth like him makin’ things worse for us.”  


You grab his hand. “Come on, come sit down and talk to me while I finish making dinner.”  


Arthur lets you take him to where Charles had been sitting. He sits down, watching you go back to slicing up vegetales.  


“Come on, Arthur,” you say. “Tell me what happened. You’ve been tolerant about Strauss and his bullshit until now. What changed your mind?”  


He sighs and explains how he went to collect the last debt. Turns out the man died from an illness, a likely result of being overworked in the mines. Arthur had gone to retrieve the debt from his widow, but he found her with her young son, claiming men were coming to take their house and what little they had left.  


“She looked at me like I was the devil,” he says, his voice somber. “All I could think of was how Eliza and Isaac must have looked when those men… I couldn’t do it. I told ‘em the debt was cancelled and gave ‘em some money. But I’m tired, Y/N. I’m tired of chasin’ these poor people Strauss sets himself on, takin’ what they don’t even have. I can’t sit here and watch him ruin people’s lives like that, we ruin enough already. He ain’t contributin’ to camp, he ain’t helpin’ feed us. It was time.”  


You grab his hand, your heart breaking for him. “You did the right thing, Arthur. Strauss has never done anything to help us and we’re in enough trouble already. But you did one thing I don’t know if I agree with.”  


“What?”  


You smile softly at him. “I wouldn’t have given him any money. If he has enough money to lend to these poor bastards, he has enough to take care of himself.”  


“Oh,” he says, hiding his eyes beneath his hat. “Well, Strauss and I were friends at one point, I at least owed him a chance out there on his own.”  


“I’m sorry, Arthur. I wish I could take some of this weight from your shoulders. You keep going on like this, it’s gonna kill ya.”  


He squeezes your hand again. “I ain’t gonna die. I got you by my side.”  


You smile at him and scoop the last ingredients into the pot. “Well come on, cowboy. Help me get this onto the fire.”  


He stands up with a sigh and lifts the pot onto the fire. Once it’s down, he grabs your hand and starts heading over to the tent.  


“You’re not even gonna try my cooking?” you say, coming to a stop.  


He looks at you and then over to the pot. “Well, I suppose.”  


“Come on, I didn’t cook it like Pearson does.”  


He smiles and grabs a plate, tasting it. “Hmm, actually pretty good, considerin’ your limitations.”  


You eat as you head on to the tent, several gang members lining up to get dinner. Once he’s done eating, Arthur looks over at you.  


“You wanna come with me tomorrow? Promised Charles I’d help out Rains Fall, you remember him.”  


“Of course. Any idea what he needs help with?”  


“Sounds like this Colonel Favours feller is givin’ ‘em a real hard time, can’t figure why. Anyways, I figured we’d stop by tomorrow, see how they’re faring.”  


The sun dips behind the trees, casting Beaver Hollow into the cool shadows. The mood of the gang does little to bring warmth to the clearing. You sit on the ground, your head leaning on Arthur’s thigh as he sits on the chair. John, Charles and Javier sit on the log, but no one says a word. You wish you could think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind.  


After a while, you get up and walk towards the horses, unable to stand being stuck in the middle of the awkward silence. Rannoch rumbles affectionately as you approach him, pulling out a treat. It’s been hard, being so close to the site where Rain died and having a new horse, although Rannoch has been a blessing.  


“You make the stew tonight?” Bill’s harsh voice comes out from behind you. He takes you slightly by surprise.  


“Oh, um yeah.”  


“Well, I’m… I’m just surprised, is all.” He takes a few steps closer to you and Rannoch. Your horse suddenly snorts in irritation. He’s never like anyone much with the exception of you, Arthur and Kieran before he’d been killed. Bill ignores the warning signals and takes another step forward, causing Rannoch to stomp angrily.  


“Watch yourself, Bill,” you say immediately, patting Rannoch’s neck to try and calm him. He lifts his nose, snorting again and Bill steps back.  


“Figures,” he spits. “I knew he’d be a turncoat, too.”  


“And what is that supposed to mean?” you demand, turning to face Bill properly.  


“You know what I mean, Y/N. People been sayin’ you and Arthur have been doin’ a lot lately since you ain’t been in camp much.”  


“Oh, and who said that? Micah?”  


“Micah’s the one sayin’ there’s a rat in camp. Seems like ever since you and Arthur got engaged, we been dealin’ with nothin’ but trouble.”  


“So this is my fault?”  


“You tell me, Y/N,” Bill hisses. “You’re the one runnin’ around everywhere. Who can say where the two of you go?”  


“Hey, take it easy there, Williamson,” Arthur says from behind him. “What’s going on?”  


Bill whips around to glare at Arthur. “Nothin’, Morgan. I just think you need to keep a tighter leash on your woman.”  


Arthur slowly walks up to Bill and they size each other up, the air between them seems to crackle. “I suggest you stay away from my woman, Williamson. She ain’t done nothin’ wrong, and if she ends up killin’ ya for antagonizin’ her, I don’t think anyone can stop her.”  


Bill grumbles something and marches off after throwing you a sharp glare. Arthur walks up to you, putting a hand on your elbow. “Bill was out of line, darlin’. Don’t listen to him.”  


“I’m not, Arthur. Bill’s a fool.” You pause as Arthur pats Rannoch’s neck. The horse rumbles happily again, settling down. Artemis walks over, almost as though she’s jealous that Arthur is giving your horse attention and not her. As he rubs her head, your mind wanders back to how bad things have gotten.  


“I can hear you thinkin’, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”  


“It’s just… why is everyone acting like it’s only a matter of time before we start ripping each other’s throats out?”  


He sighs heavily. “Like you said, Bill’s a fool. He’s been angry a long time, I ain’t surprised by this.”  


“It’s not just him, Arthur. Earlier I heard Javier going after Charles. Charles, of all people! Saying he ain’t being loyal to Dutch. All Charles has done is help out the Wapiti a little. And it’s not just that. Tilly was ranting to me about you and all the other boys, saying you all been causing too much trouble and you’re gonna get us all killed.”  


Arthur sighs again, finally lowering his hands from Artemis’s face. “I know, sweetheart. Things are bad. But we at least owe it to all of ‘em to try and get us someplace better. Y’know, that whole ‘night is darkest before the dawn’ bit.”  


“I hope so,” you sigh. “I just hope that all this fighting doesn’t come between us.”  


Arthur smiles and looks down, his eyes finding your left hand resting near your side, the ring on your finger glinting from the distant firelight. He grabs it, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. “Me too, darlin’. I wish things were better right now, that we could sit down and plan on our weddin’ instead of plannin’ on how to get outta this mess.”  


“Me too, Arthur. I just hope that things calm down enough eventually that we can.”  


“We will. All things come to an end, even the bad things.”  


He suddenly pulls you close so your head is resting against his chest, his hand planted on your head. You sigh, closing your eyes as you enjoy the sensation of his other hand rubbing up and down your back. You fold your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer as you hear his heart thumping. 

In the morning, after having coffee, Arthur and you head out towards the Wapiti reservation, as per Charles’s instructions on how to find it. The reservation lies north west of Beaver Hollow at the northern tip of the Cumberland Forest. You both pass a long railroad bridge near a large station which seems to have been abandoned. Across the gorge that the tracks cross over is a military fort. Arthur leads you up north on the trail and you look to the right, your eyes going up the steep mountainside and resting on a boulder sitting at the edge of a small peninsula. An eagle sits upon it and takes flight, his wings glinting gold momentarily in the sun.  


The scenery begins to change as you head farther away from the railroad bridge. A swift river runs to your left, the banks going from gray and green to a brilliant orange. You come upon a bridge which hovers above the end of a wide section of the river, which dazzles a clear, enticing blue amongst the orange rocks. An elk somewhere hidden in the trees calls out, his cry echoing through the forest. Across the river and tucked amongst the pines, several columns of smoke from campfires swirl lazily into the sky.  


Arthur leads you across the river and up the trail until the village appears. You’ve always known about teepees so you’re surprised to find a few buildings nestled among them, along with wagons. Men and women mill about, throwing you and Arthur suspicious stares. After hitching the horses, you feel incredibly self conscious, knowing exactly how unwelcome you are. Arthur seems tense as well, his hand folds around yours. He approaches an older man sitting cross-legged outside of the nearest teepee.  


“Uh, excuse me, sir,” Arthur says calmly.  


“You two should not be here,” the man says bluntly, looking from you to Arthur.  


“I know, but I have some business with Rains Fall. Said I could meet him here.”  


The man narrows his eyes before he finally points to a teepee near a large shack. Arthur thanks him and you both go to it. He hesitates, clearly wanting to knock but not knowing where. Eventually, he settles for hunching over to try and look into the flap of the teepee and say a gruff and unsure “hello?”.  


“Come in,” a voice answers from inside.  


Arthur glances at you before going in, you following. Inside, the teepee is more spacious than you had imagined, a fire in the center, making the teepee swelteringly hot. Crates, pots and other items line the walls, including finely woven blankets and a large bull’s skull with feathers attached to the horns sits high. Rains Fall nods in greeting to you both, another member of his tribe sitting close to him.  


“Thank you for coming, Mr. Morgan, Ms. Y/L/N,” Rains Fall says gently, staring at the fire. “Tell me, how is your friend, Mr. Van der Linde, fairing? My son has spoken much about him.”  


“He’s uh,” Arthur begins awkwardly. “Well, I don’t know. He’s angry, I suppose. Throwin’ us all into a lot of chaos.”  


“Then I hope, amidst all the chaos, you both may find peace.” Rains Fall begins poking at the fire.  


“I don’t know too much about peace,” Arthur says.  


“Apparently not. Did you have fun with my son, the impetuous Prince? I believe you went on a raid with him.” Rains Fall and stares hard at Arthur, clearly pointing to how Arthur helped Eagle Flies retrieve their horses. Arthur had told you about that, how Dutch had gotten Eagle Flies ruffled up, how they had attempted to sneak onto the boat and steal the horses quietly but it had gone badly, ending with Dutch crashing the boat.  


Arthur sighs, clearly embarrassed and ashamed. You squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says.  


Rains Fall reaches into a pot with hot water, pulling out a cloth. He approaches another man you’ve just noticed, his face shining in sweat. He dabs at the man’s forehead with the cloth. You suddenly realize why he keeps it so hot in the teepee. He must hope the heat will break the mens’ fevers.  


“I suppose I lack the grandeur of a conventional king,” Rains Fall says gently.  


“I don’t know too many kings,” Arthur says. He pats your back softly, urging you to speak.  


“Um, I don’t either.”  


“Colonel Favours,” Rains Fall straightens up, looking at Arthur. “He has already exacted some measure of revenge for the raid. Two women were assaulted by his men.”  


Your heart sinks upon hearing this. While your ex husband, James, had raped you many times, you can’t imagine the horror of being attacked not only by a stranger, but a known accomplice of your enemy. You and Arthur both hang your head in remorse.  


“I’m very sorry about all of this,” you say as Arthur rubs his nose. “Arthur would never have done it had he known it’d end that way.”  


Arthur nods in agreement. “No, I wouldn’t. A few horses ain’t worth it.”  


“Yes, sometimes the correct path, the bravest path is the least obvious, and also the gentlest.” Rains Fall straightens up, his eyes show a certain depth and intelligence you’ve rarely seen. “I’m a great disappointment to my son.”  


“Your son seems to want a war,” Arthur says.  


“My son thinks there is glory in death. I saw death being handed out so freely by the most foolish of men, I never could equate it with victory.”  


“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Arthur admits. “For a whole lot of dumb reasons, I ain’t never seen much glory in it.”  


“Perhaps we could go for a ride. Discuss a few things. Your friend is more than welcome to come.”  


Arthur nods, squeezing your hand as Rains Fall leads you out of the teepee.  


“I’m an old man,” Rains Fall continues. “All my life, I have tried to bring peace. Perhaps you both can take pity on my plight. It won’t take long.”  


Arthur pauses and looks at you, as though questioning whether you should both do this. You nod, doubting that a simple ride with this man could do any damage. He sighs and goes with you to the horses. Just as you’re about to mount up, a voice rings out from behind you.  


“Sir!”  


Turning, you see a military man on a huge red roan draft horse approaching. Rains Fall nods in recognition and welcomes the man.  


“Captain Monroe. Do you know my friends, Mr. Morgan and Ms. Y/L/N?”  


“No sir, I haven’t had the pleasure.”  


Arthur introduces himself and you to the captain. You nod in greeting when he says your name.  


The captain turns back to Rains Fall. “Sir. I was just in Saint Denis, spoke with the mayor. It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”  


Rains Fall sighs as though he were expecting this. He offers for Monroe to ride with your group a short ways, to which the captain agrees. You and Arthur mount up as Rains Fall climbs onto his horse.  


“Mr. Morgan, Ms. Y/L/N, come with me. I want to take you to a sight in the mountains, a place that’s long been sacred to me. A place for reflection.” Rains Fall begins trotting down the trail, you and the others following in a line.  


Rains Fall asks Monroe to tell him the news from Saint Denis. Monroe reports that an oil company has already been approved to drill upon the Wapiti’s land, but that nothing would be likely to happen for a few months.  


“I promise I will continue to do as much as I can,” Monroe finishes. He then glances back at Arthur. “Mr. Morgan, would you have time to help me? It would be better if certain actions were taken by friends outside the tribe.”  


“Of course,” he replies.  


“I will too.” You say.  


Monroe thanks you but then warns that some of the work may be potentially dangerous. You just chuckle. “You clearly don’t know nothin’ about me, captain.”  


“I suppose not, but I appreciate your eagerness. Come meet me on the reservation when you can. Anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time, sir.” Monroe kicks his horse into a canter and runs down the path which leads to the long railroad bridge. Rains Fall lifts his hand in farewell.  


“I hope you don’t mind,” he says after a moment, “but I am going to look for some herbs that might help some of my people. The army has been making things difficult for us, but I’ll go more into that later.”  


The group heads on a little further up the path and up ahead on the foot of a mountain, something large and gray is moving. As you approach it, Rains Fall says, “You see those wolves up ahead?”  


As you get closer, you can see the wolves feasting on a horse.  


“Brutality and beauty are both all around us,” Rains Fall continues in his calm manner as he leads you both up the fork in the road. “So often, though, we’re unable to see past our own grievances. I try to teach this to my son.”  


As the group approaches the wolves, they stop eating and growl, lowering their ears.  


“Don’t shoot them,” Rains Fall warns. “They may not be a threat.”  


As he predicted, the wolves snarl once and then run off into the forest, abandoning their kill.  


Rains Fall leads you both further up the path until there is another fork in the road, traveling up the side of the mountain. “We can talk if either of you want, but please don’t feel like you have to. It’s a beautiful ride ahead if you need time to think.”  


“Well,” Arthur begins, “we don’t know you too well, but I wanted to speak to you about your son. I figure you know something about Dutch.”  


“A little, your friend Charles told me about him.” Rains Fall leads you off the path towards a rather steep area of the mountain. He heads over to a copse of bushes and stops to gather herbs. Looking around, you once again see the large boulder on the lip of the peninsula. The view is breathtaking as it sweeps across the Grizzlies and the Cumberland Forest. You feel an immense sense of peace, something you’ve seldom felt since the bank job that ended in Hosea and Lenny’s deaths.  


Rains Fall slides the herbs into his satchel and gets back onto his horse. Arthur, who had been admiring the view as well, turns back to Rains Fall.  


“I don’t know why Dutch is gettin’ involved in your situation,” he says. “This ain’t easy to say, but I don’t trust that he’s got your son’s best interests at heart.”  


“So what can we do?” Rains Fall asks.  


“I don’t rightly know. I just thought you should be aware.”  


“Ah, I understand. What do you think, Y/N?”  


You’re caught by surprise that Rains Fall would ask your opinion as he leads you both up the path again. “Well, I only been runnin’ with Dutch a few months. Before, he always seemed like he genuinely cared for everyone, but now he just seems to want a fight. Much like your son but for different reasons, I think. He’s changed a lot since I first met him, but I agree with Arthur. Just be aware of him and try to steer your son away from him, if you can. I don’t think Dutch has any good intentions in mind.”  


“Well, thank you. Both of you. I appreciate the warning.”  


The three of you continue traveling along the path once more as the path winds east along the mountain. It rounds to the left, opening up to a spectacular view. You’re sure you can see Lemoyne from this vantage point. The sun beats down pleasantly as you admire the view.  


Arthur suddenly brings you out of your own head. “I had a son once. Years ago. Don’t talk about him much.”  


“What was his name?” Rains Fall asks.  


“Isaac.” Arthur tells the story he had told you, of how he had met a waitress named Eliza and she had gotten pregnant. He also explains how he promised to do right by them, despite her knowing what kind of life he led. You can’t help your heart tugging painfully when he describes finding their graves after they were murdered for nothing more than ten dollars.  


Rains Fall pulls off the path again as Arthur finishes telling his story. He dismounts and picks some ginseng, putting it into his satchel. “I appreciate you both coming with me to pick these herbs,” he says gently. “And I’m sorry about your son, Mr. Morgan.”  


“It hardened me,” Arthur says. “Feelin’ that kind of pain. But I know now you don’t get to live a bad life and have good things happen to you. That’s why I’m tryin’ harder this time.” He looks pointedly at you when he says this. It does not go unnoticed by Rains Fall as he mounts up again.  


“I think you’re being hard on yourself, Mr. Morgan.”  


“Maybe,” Arthur says as he follows Rains Fall down the path again. “All I can do now is try to make some things right. Try to earn the good things I got and the ones I want.”  


“Arthur,” you say with a soft smile. “I’m hardly a desirable prize.”  


He grunts something you can’t hear as Rains Fall calls back to you from up ahead on the path, which is rounding to the right. “I think you underestimate yourself, Ms. Y/L/N. The way Arthur here looks at you makes me think he believes otherwise.”  


You feel your cheeks burn at this comment and Arthur looks at you over his shoulder, winking. You can see his cheek is pink.  


“Well, I done bad things too.” You kick Rannoch to walk side by side with Artemis so you can better talk with Rains Fall. Something about this man makes you want to trust him, to open up about your past. You tell him about your father and his abusive ways to try and raise you, your passive mother who let him, your cousin and then about James, who your father bribed with money to marry you and how he constantly attacked you.  


“I couldn’t take it anymore,” you say, shaking a little from your story. “So I finally shot my husband and was still so enraged that I went to my parents’ house. Shot my father and… tied my mother up before setting the house on fire. That was the thing I regret doing the most. At least my father’s and James’s deaths were quick. Hers wasn’t. I wish I had just shot her too.”  


“Hmm, anger is a powerful emotion, especially when it’s grown from that sort of pain,” Rains Fall says.  


“Sure. I’m just surprised Arthur still wants to marry me when he knows exactly how I killed my last husband.”  


“Yeah, well I ain’t foolish or cruel enough to treat you like that, darlin’.”  


You smile at him as the path winds into a switchback, going down the mountain. A few more moments pass in silence, allowing you to admire the sweeping landscape, marking the Heartlands.  


“That feller Monroe,” Arthur says. “How do you know him?”  


“Captain Monroe was reassigned here from a regiment in the north. The news of our conflict has spread all the way to Washington. He’s a good man and he wants to help. The army aren’t all bad men, just as my people aren’t all good. But this Colonel Favours, he walks an old line. He’s obstinate, and he hates Monroe. I just hope we can work things out between us.”  


Rains Fall goes silent as the path evens out and goes west. You can see that it travels up between two peaks of the mountain, where a copse of pines grow. The group goes up it and smoke rises from the trees. You’re expecting to see a campfire as a source of the smoke. Instead you see some of the pines have been burned and among them sits a Wapiti hut, charred to the point that only the branched structure still stands with tatters of the coverings on it.  


Upon seeing it, Rains Fall dismounts. “No. It can’t be. What’s happened?” He approaches the burnt hut, a long, low tune coming from his mouth. Although you don’t understand why he’s making the sound, you realize it means something horrible has happened that has shaken him. He kneels beside the burnt ground, looking devastated.  


“No! They destroyed everything!”  


You and Arthur dismount, walking up behind him.  


“Who would do this?”  


“Someone who wanted to enrage you,” Arthur says.  


“Help me look around please. I need to find the Chanupa.” Rains Fall stands up and looks at you, his eyes begging. He describes the Chanupa to you, a kind of smoking pipe. You and Arthur begin looking around. You see a few bottles of whiskey and a bundle of rum-soaked logs. Just as you’re bending down to inspect the logs, Arthur hollers out.  


“Over here!”  


You and the Chief go to where he’s standing on the west side of the burnt hut. At the edge of the path, the mountainside looks out across the valley once more, and at the foot of the mountain lies a large camp, a smoke trail rising from it. Pulling out your binoculars, you look on the camp. Without a doubt, it’s the army. You can see their blue uniforms. You hand the binoculars to Rains Fall and he takes them, looking.  


“These… brave men,” he says gruffly. “They are Colonel Favours’s men. They must have been the ones who did this.”  


“Are you surprised this happened?” Arthur asks. He lowers his binoculars.  


“Not at all, but I hoped we were past this.”  


“Well you got land they want, land with oil.”  


“But they were the ones who moved us here,” Rains Fall says, clearly confused. “They’ve taken everything we had. I signed three treaties myself and they’ve broken each one. Now they’ve taken the last hope, and my people will want a war.”  


“This Chanupa,” Arthur says. “If we get it back, will it makes things better?”  


“Some. It will at least deter my people from demanding we fight.”  


“Then I’ll go,” Arthur says. “I’ll go in the camp and look.”  


“Me too,” you say.  


“Thank you, both of you. But please, try not to hurt anyone. Their dead will not help my people.”  


You nod and head down the path with Arthur on foot. The path leads into another switchback until it slopes out to a less steep decline. You and Arthur hide in the cover of the boulders and sparse bushes that dot the land, sneaking your way closer to the camp.  


When you’re close, you both stop and observe the men. There’s only about eight or nine, three of them sitting by the campfire while most of the others patrol the camp. Arthur takes out his binoculars again and sweeps the camp.  


“There’s somethin’ by their fire. Looks like a long rod of some kind. I think it’s the Chanupa.”  


“I’ll go get it,” you say. “Cover me.”  


“No, I’ll go.”  


“Arthur, I’m smaller than you and you’re a better shot. If anything happens, you can take them down quicker. I’ll try to be quiet though.”  


He sighs but lets you go. You scurry from your boulder to a bush and wait for the nearest patrol to you walk a little further away. Dashing into the camp, you sidle between a tent and a wagon. As you’re tip toeing on the side of the tent, you hear someone inside of it snort as though waking up. You hear the sounds of him getting up and walking towards the front, causing you to flit to the back again in case he comes to your side. He does, and you watch, peaking around the corner, until he’s gone.  


You sneak up to the front of the tent again, which isn’t far from the campfire. The three men sitting around it talk unconcerned.  


“I heard old Favours was trying to get him transferred. Don’t like him much,” one says. You creep up to the front of the tent and peak around to see the men. Two of them have their backs to you but one could easily see you from the corner of his eye if you move too quickly. You take a few seconds and look around the area, spotting a long pipe in a colorful leather sheath. It must be the Chanupa.  


“He always seemed like a decent fellow,” another man responds.  


“That’s exactly the problem.”  


The man whose side is facing you turns his head away to scratch his neck. You take the chance and dart forward quickly, grabbing the Chanupa and retreating back to the cover of the tent. Standing to the side of it again, you pause again to make sure you weren’t spotted.  


“Monroe went to west point, Favours never made it.”  


You sigh in relief, they didn’t see you. Although your heart beats hard in your chest, feeling like it’s about to leap into your throat, you calmly back away towards the back of the tent the way you’d come. Checking that the patrol hasn’t come around to your side again, you hunch over and sneak from the bushes to the boulders until you finally meet up with Arthur again.  


“You got it?” he asks. You show him the Chanupa in your hand. “Good. Fellers don’t seem to have seen you. Let’s get back.”  


You follow him up the side of the mountain, still using whatever cover you can find until you reach the switchback. After climbing it, you breathing heavily and Arthur wiping his brow, you find Rains Fall sitting cross-legged next to the burnt hut where the opening surely would have been. He looks up at your approach.  


“Please tell me you found it,” he begs.  


As you both walk up to him, you hold up the Chanupa and set it in his outstretched hands.  


“I think that’s it,” you say, a little uncertain.  


“Yes, thank you.”  


“I’m very sorry about all this,” Arthur says.  


“Even sacred things are only things,” Rains Fall says. “People, the heart, matter more. Was anyone hurt?”  


“Don’t think those bastards even knew we were there,” you say simply.  


“Good, good. I wish my son knew such restraint. My people owe you both a great debt and I’m giving you very little.”  


“You don’t owe us anything,” you say.  


Rains Fall reaches into his satchel. “Please, take this,” he says as he holds out what looks like a bracelet with a carnivore’s teeth and an owl feather. Arthur takes it from him gently. “We believe it is sacred,” Rains Fall explains.  


“Thank you,” Arthur says, handing it to you. You hold it just as gently, though you run your hand over the owl feather. It slips easily between your fingers without making a sound like other feathers would have.  


“I must get back to my village,” Rains Fall says. He begins to stand but seems to struggle slightly so Arthur helps him up. “I hope you both can find peace within yourselves.” He heads off to his horse and trots away. You raise your hand in farewell as Arthur inspects the hut.  


“Come on,” he says when Rains Fall has vanished around the curb of the trail. You both hop onto your horses and make your slow way back towards the direction of Beaver Hollow.  


“He’s different than I thought he would be,” you admit on your way down the mountain.  


“Who? Rains Fall?”  


“Yes. I thought, being in the situation he’s in, he’d be more like his son. Angry. Even when we found that place, he wasn’t. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone quite like him.”  


“Hmm, well, to be honest, he’s a man who, not so long ago, I would have found weak and pathetic,” Arthur admits. “But now I see him as wise, thoughtful and sensible.”  


“I know what you mean. Maybe we’re both changing.”  


“No, I think just our perception of the world is. I would love to help him, or at least stop Dutch pushing his son to do something real stupid.”  


“Why do you think Dutch is doing it? He killed Cornwall, but you said all that’s happened is Pinkertons have swarmed into Van Horn and Annesburg.”  


“They have. Dutch said he killed him because Cornwall had his hands dipped in the Pinkerton’s pockets, shoveling money into them. Said he was hoping with Cornwall dead, they’d ease off. But to be honest, I think Dutch is… just startin’ to like killin’ folk. Exactly the opposite of what he told me and John not to be when we was growin’ up.”  


“He’s not who I remember first meeting,” you admit as the horses walk into a thick covering of oaks dotting the path. “I remember he was suspicious of me, but it was because he feared I might be a threat to you. If I had been in the same situation and you’d brought me into the gang with Dutch the way he is now, I’m not sure he wouldn’t kill me on the spot.”  


“Nor am I, though I think even now you’d have to give him a reason. Mind you, he don’t seem to need much at the moment. I just hope we can help him see reason, make him see that our situation ain’t good for any of us. We at least owe him the chance, sweetheart.”  


“I know, I know. We’ll try, Arthur.”


	27. The Tyrant

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, fluff, smut  


Word count: ~8900

Over the course of the next few days, you and Arthur flit between camp and hunting trips, doing your best to keep everyone fed despite the fact that Pearson’s stews are mostly meat and little else. Arthur left a few hours ago to help John with a job Micah gave them, which was to blow up Bacchus Bridge. The fact that Micah was the one to assign the job does little to ease your and Arthur’s worries. Even John, Abigail and Sadie were wary of that fact.  


Micah handing out jobs to Arthur and John isn’t the only red flag. While he’s never hesitated to antagonize the other camp members, he’s always relented from doing so with Arthur, John and Grimshaw. However, you witnessed him one day telling Grimshaw how to get the other girls to work better and faster. No one ever told Grimshaw what to do, not even Dutch. It’s apparent Grimshaw doesn’t appreciate it, she’s become more hostile since, not relenting to even deal out a slap or two to Tilly and Mary-Beth. It doesn’t improve the camp’s overall mood either.  


John and Arthur return in the early evening from destroying the bridge. You’re at Pearson’s wagon, cooking once more since Pearson’s hit the bottle too hard again. The two men hitch their horses and dismount, talking all the while. They’re close enough you can just make out what they’re saying.  


“We ain’t always seen eye-to-eye, you and me,” John says to him.  


“I guess I always thought things came too easy for you. But here we are.”  


“What are we gonna do about all this?”  


“Do what I told you, John. Talk to Abigail, see what she knows about… that whole business,” Arthur says, patting Artemis’s neck. “Then figure out what you wanna do. Remember your family.”  


“I still don’t know, Arthur. I… Dutch has been like a father to me for twenty years.”  


“I know. But do you really think this mess we’re in is really worth sacrificin’ your family for? They deserve better.”  


“I’ll think about it.” John walks away, giving you a brief nod.  


Arthur walks over to you, his face set.  


“What is it?” you ask.  


“Need to talk to you about somethin’. But not here. Later when we’re somewhere private.”  


“Got somethin’ you feel like sharing, Morgan?” Micah says, coming around the wagon, his brow raised expectantly.  


“It ain’t nothin’ to do with you, Micah,” Arthur hisses. “If ya wanna know, it’s to do with our wedding.”  


“Odd that you can’t talk to your girl about it in the middle of camp. Almost like you’re trying to hide something.”  


“Maybe we’re trying to keep our private lives private, Bell,” you snap. “Besides, what do you care what we’re talking about? Not like you’re coming to the wedding.”  


He chuckles a little and takes a step forward. “Damn right about that one. But Morgan, if I were you, I’d keep a check on this girl of yours. Don’t want nothin’ bad happening to her.”  


“Excuse me?” he says, marching up to Micah. They stand inches from each other.  


“I’m just saying it’s in the gang’s best interests to keep her safe, just like all the other women. Wouldn’t wanna lose our best cook while Pearson’s got his head spinning, now would we?”  


“Get lost, Micah,” Arthur growls. “If ya feel like worryin’ about anyone’s safety, I’d worry about your own.”  


“Oh, trust me, Morgan. Don’t worry about me, I’m doing just fine. Now you two go back to your... wedding talk.” He leaves with a small laugh.  


“I hate him so much,” you say softly when Arthur turns back to you.  


“I know. But that’s why I wanted to talk to you outside this place. Micah might be a snake and an ass, but I think he’s right when he said there might be a rat in camp.”  


You recall hearing Micah telling that to Dutch, and although you feel as though most of the things that have come from his mouth have been lies, it feels like Micah was being honest for once. It seems like more and more, Pinkertons have been able to find the gang and know about their activity. It’s hard to say who it could be, though you’re sure that certain members aren’t, such as Charles and Swanson. You hope it wasn’t Strauss, though the idea doesn’t quite match up. The camp was Strauss’s safe zone, until Arthur kicked him out. He’d be an unlikely culprit, but you keep the idea in mind.  


As you and Arthur sit on your cot eating the meat-heavy stew, Arthur speaks up.  


“Wanna go up to see the Wapiti again tomorrow. See how they’re doing.”  


“Okay, I’ll come too. I hope they’re doing okay.”  


“Me too. They’re good people trapped in a bad situation. Dutch ain’t helpin’ ‘em.”  


“I’ve been thinking about that. Dutch has always been the helpful sort, I mean look at how he helped Sadie and me when we first joined. What he’s doing with Eagle Flies feels different. Like…”  


“Like he wants to cause a fight,” Arthur finishes. “I know. I keep tellin’ him that it’s a fool’s game to be playin’ the Indians and the army like this, but he don’t seem too interested in listenin’ to me no more.”  


You set your plate down and grab his hand. “I wish we could fix what’s happening, Arthur. Seems like Dutch doesn’t wanna listen to anybody except Micah. And he’s just getting worse and worse. When you and John were gone, he was standing outside his tent screaming something about faith and loyalty for a solid five minutes. Kept saying we got no room for doubters but that’s all any of us seem to be able to do anymore.”  


“I know. Like I said, we’ll talk about it when we’re not in camp. Too risky here and I ain’t sure who we can trust anymore.”  


You lean over and put your head on his shoulder. “I guess as long as we can trust each other, it’ll have to be enough for now. How’d that thing go with John?”  


“Fine. Still don’t know why Dutch wanted us to blow up the bridge. Just said it would divert the Pinkertons’ attention elsewhere. I don’t know though, feels more like it’s just gonna attract them to us even more.”  


You sigh again, squeezing his hand. “I guess we’ll just play it his way for a while.” Arthur nods, though his eyes don’t meet yours.

In the morning, Arthur takes you out early with the excuse that he wants to go hunting, but you see right through him. He clearly is getting tired of camp. It doesn’t help that Micah has been marching around, commenting on nearly everyone’s activities. You’re happy that Pearson at least is sober enough to cook. You follow Arthur up the path out of the Roanoke Valley and into the Grizzlies, travelling west to Wapiti.  


As you head down the path which leads towards Bacchus Station, Arthur finally speaks up.  


“That thing I wanted to talk to ya about,” he says. “I’m thinkin’, well, I’m thinkin’ we need to talk about the likely possibility of us leavin’ the gang.”  


“What?” you say, caught off guard. While you had suggested it when the gang first came to Beaver Hollow, Arthur was adamant on remaining. “What changed your mind?”  


“Well, John and I were talkin’ yesterday when we was at the bridge. It just don’t feel we know Dutch anymore. I know you sure don’t, but we known him for twenty years at least. Now he’s almost like a stranger who’s just stringin’ us along with his games.”  


“I know, Arthur,” you say heavily. “But I thought you wanted to try to help him get better? To give him time?”  


“I don’t know if that’s possible. I love Dutch, don’t get me wrong. He saved me, John and many of the others. But now he just seems like he wants more enemies. We ain’t lyin’ low, and I doubt we’ll be gettin’ out of here with everyone alive.”  


“I know what you mean. I don’t want anyone else to die.”  


“Me neither. So I talked to John, told him to think about gettin’ out with Abigail and Jack. But listen to me: if we can get them out, then we can go. You and I, we can disappear, start our own lives elsewhere. Get married like we want.”  


As he says this, it makes your heart skip a beat. All you’ve wanted since agreeing to marry him is to try and have a proper life with him. “That sounds wonderful, Arthur. But I agree, we need to try and get John and his family out. They… they have more to live for than we do, especially young Jack.”  


“Surprised to hear you say that, darlin’.”  


You sigh as the pair of you pass Bacchus Bridge, or what’s left of it. “I tried the domestic life, Arthur. It didn’t sit well with me. It wasn’t just my late husband that made it awful. The life itself, the empty existence of cooking his meals and cleaning his home. I hated it.”  


“So livin’ with our rowdy bunch was better?” he chuckles. “Rarely havin’ four walls around ya and a roof over your head was preferable?”  


“Well, not always, but the company was more enjoyable. I’m not saying I wouldn’t mind a home, but I just don’t want to be forced to remain there like James tried to make me do.”  


“I know what you mean, sweetheart,” Arthur says. “And if we get outta this mess, we’ll figure out what we’ll do.”  


Finally you’re approaching the blue river nestled in the orange earth, the columns of smoke rising from where the Wapiti live. You both hitch your horses outside the tribe before looking around. It’s relatively quiet, but that might be because it’s still early. As you and Arthur walk into the tribe, you see Captain Monroe scooping up some kind of soup into a bowl and walking it over to a woman sitting with her son’s head in her lap. Looking at him as you approach, the boy looks quite ill. His mother brushes the hair from his face before taking the bowl from Monroe.  


“Captain,” Arthur says. “We’re here like you asked.”  


“Thank you for coming. Just in time. The Chief has gone out looking for medications.”  


“Quite a business,” Arthur says, looking around again.  


You do as well, and you can see some of the other tribe members look ill like the boy. “What’s going on?” you ask.  


“Colonel Favors seems to think the natives have broken some promise they never made, and now he’s punishing them by withholding vaccines.”  


“He can’t do that,” you say as Monroe approaches the fire again to scoop up more soup.  


“Well, he thinks he can,” Monroe says bluntly. A young man approaches the fire with an elderly man, his hair streaked white. The young man holds his shoulders in support. Monroe hands the old man a bowl. “I was supposed to oversee the administrations of the vaccines, but I heard the wagon’s been diverted.”  


“Why would he do such a thing?” Arthur asks. He walks around the fire, looking more into the tribe.  


“To be honest, I truly don’t know. They say he didn’t have a very good war, so maybe he’s trying to start another one. I’m trying to find out, but he knows I’m trying to find out. He’d like to provoke me almost as much as these poor bastards.”  


“What do you mean?” you ask.  


“I mean that despite the fact that I think he’s a horse’s ass, he knows I think that. So we’re just stuck here trying to make the best of things.”  


“This is the best of things?” Arthur demands, looking angry. “Children, dying of diseases?” He pauses a moment, glancing your way. “Where is this wagon? Where can we find it?”  


“I’ll show you,” Monroe says, stirring the soup one last time. “It’s supposed to be heading to Wapiti after coming up through Valentine, but it’s been diverted south.”  


“Come on then, Captain,” Arthur says, heading over to the horses. You and Monroe go with him, mounting up. You almost laugh seeing Rannoch next to Artemis and Monroe’s large draft; Rannoch looks tiny between them.  


“Now we must act with due caution,” Monroe warns.  


“Oh, we will. Now lead the way, Captain,” Arthur grunts.  


Monroe leads you out of the tribe the way you had come in and down south past the destroyed bridge and into the Cumberland Forest. Along the way, the three of you further discuss this Colonel Favours.  


“So he knows you’re up here helpin’ these people?” Arthur asks.  


“Yes and no. He knows I’m up here to produce a report on the situation. I was sent down from the North after word spread of the unrest in the region, but I think my presence might be making things worse.”  


“How do you mean?” you ask. You’re coming to the realization that the Wapiti’s problems with the army is far more complex than you’d thought.  


“I worry he’s taking some of these actions more to protect himself now,” Monroe explains. “If he can incite more retaliation, maybe he can prove a stronger defense.”  


“Like destroying that shrine,” Arthur says heavily.  


“I’ve heard of this tactic before,” you say. “When someone’s sitting on something you want, the best way to justify taking it is to make them your enemy.”  


“Yes, but I don’t know if he personally sanctioned any of this or not,” Monroe says. “There’s a culture in his regiment now. The rot has traveled down the trunk.”  


“Well, let’s just find this wagon,” Arthur says. “I should mention we don’t intend you to be involved. Sounds like you got enough trouble to worry about.”  


“Thank you both, but I must ask you please to be discrete. We really can’t afford more conflict.”  


“We will be,” you say. “I got Rains Fall his Chanupa back from those bastards and they never even noticed me.”  


“Yes, Rains Fall did say something about that. I’m still hoping a meeting can be arranged between him and Colonel Favours.”  


“Sounds like that could be problematic,” Arthur says. “So should we drop the wagon back at the reservation?”  


“No no, you just need to commandeer the vaccine. Stealing those and the wagon will only make things worse. Favours has many flaws, but I don’t believe callousness is one of them. More an insecure man at the end of his career trying to cling onto something that’s already gone. He fought for the Union in the war, but his record was considered far from illustrious. A failed man is often the most dangerous.”  


As Monroe leads you up the side of a hill, you look over at Arthur with a knowing expression. The more Monroe describes Favours, the more you’re reminded of Dutch. Monroe takes you further west on the hill’s steady incline, weaving through aspens and pines. He pulls his horse to a stop near a small plateau overlooking the trail that leads to Valentine, you and Arthur do the same. Dismounting, you hunch down as Monroe does and go to the edge of the rise, pulling out your binoculars. Monroe explains that the wagon will be coming up the road from Valentine any moment. Arthur also pulls out his binoculars and looks down the road.  


“You’re good people,” Monroe says, “but I fear this task may be a fool’s errand.”  


“Well, firstly I’m a long way from a good person,” Arthur says quietly. “Secondly, fool’s errands are my favorite kind of work.”  


“Same goes here,” you say with a small laugh.  


“In that case, I can see we’ll be great friends,” Monroe says somberly.  


A few seconds pass in silence until Arthur lowers his binoculars. “May I ask a question?” he says to Monroe. “Why don’t you just tell all the folk up in Washington what kind of an idiot Colonel Favours is and save everyone a lot of bother?”  


“Well, unfortunately, the government doesn’t work quite like that.”  


“If you say so,” Arthur says, although it’s clear he doesn’t understand why it can’t be that simple. You don’t either.  


Looking through your binoculars, you see a wagon driving through the trees down the path, a passenger sitting beside the driver. “I think I see it,” you say.  


“Alright, get yourself outta here, Captain,” Arthur says.  


Monroe stands up, although he still hunches. “Just remember to keep it clean, understand me?”  


“Don’t worry, we’re as clean as they come,” Arthur responds. “Hell, all we do is clean.”  


“Well, good luck,” Monroe says. His tone indicates he doesn’t hold a lot of faith that you both can do this quietly, but you say nothing. “Try not to get yourselves killed.”  


He hops onto his horse and canters down the plateau away from the path.  


Arthur turns to you. “How do you think we should do this?”  


“I’m not sure. I guess the same way we’d approach any other wagon we were gonna rob from. Maybe I could pull the old ‘injured or lost lady in need of some help’ tactic?”  


“I ain’t too sure that’ll work this time, sweetheart. These are army boys, less likely to stop for a lost lady.”  


“Well, what do you suggest?”  


He pauses for a second, the wagon getting closer and closer. “I’ll ride up beside them, keep ‘em distracted with some chatter. Act like I’m lost and askin’ for direction or somethin’. You jump into the wagon and get the vaccines.”  


You nod. “That could work, just make sure you keep both of them involved.”  


You mount up, Arthur tells you to ride a few paces after him and then he dashes down the plateau, towards the trail and the passing wagon. After a few seconds, you chase after them, keeping a good distance behind it.  


Arthur approaches the side of the wagon on the driver’s side. “Excuse me, fellers,” he says politely.  


“This is an army wagon, sir,” the passenger says. “You need to keep movin’.”  


“Oh, yes sir, I fully intend to, but I’m afraid I’ve really lost my way. Ain’t from around here, see. Was tryin’ to visit my cousin…”  


As Arthur continues telling his story and asking for directions to Valentine, you trot Rannoch on the other side of the wagon, keeping a wary eye on the army men. Once Rannoch’s close enough to the side, you swing your right leg over the saddle and hop off his back and into the wagon. Arthur conveniently pretends to cough right as you do so in order to cover the sound of your thud.  


“Apologies,” he says, clearing his throat. “I been tryin’ to find my way for a while and all the dirt from the road is doin’ a number on my lungs.”  


“You say you’re heading to Valentine?” the driver asks as you stand up quietly as you can.  


“Yes sir. Like I said, my cousin’s there and I’m tryin’ to visit him.”  


“Well, we just left Valentine…”  


You look around the wagon quickly, spotting a small black chest sitting on a crate on the side of the wagon closest to Arthur. Silently, you unlatch the hook of the box and open it, a smaller metal box with over a dozen needles, along with bottles of medicine. You quickly stuff the box into your satchel and relatch the chest. Arthur pretends to scratch his chin, looking back at you and you give him the thumbs up just as the passenger finishes telling him directions.  


“Well, thank you, kind sirs. Enjoy the rest of your day.”  


You head to the back of the wagon and hop out, crashing to the ground. Luckily, Arthur purposefully slowed down Artemis to a steady trot so the men would be less likely to hear the thud. You get to your feet, brushing yourself off.  


“You get ‘em?” Arthur asks.  


“Sure did. Now come on, let’s go to Wapiti.”  


He smiles at you proudly as you whistle for Rannoch. “Really come into your own as a thief now, ain’t ya?”  


"Well, I had a good instructor,” you say, mounting up and patting Rannoch’s neck. The two of you turn and head up the trail in the opposite direction of the wagon, making your way north and back to the tribe.  


Once you get there, you can’t find Monroe, but Arthur asks a tribe member who points him to a partially collapsed tent. Inside, Monroe is talking to a man lying down on a bed roll.  


“Captain Monroe,” he says. “We got the medicine.”  


Monroe looks up at you, relief spread across his face. “Wonderful. That’s great news, Mr. Morgan.”  


He stands up and you hand him the metal box.  


“It went pretty clean,” Arthur says.  


Monroe opens the metal box and holds up a brown glass bottle full of liquid. “Us three could swing for this.”  


“Well, if it means these kids have a chance, then I’m willin’ to run for it,” Arthur says. You nod in agreement.  


“I just hope Colonel Favours thinks he was robbed by bandits, and not…” Monroe puts the box down on a crate.  


“Oh no, we’re still bandits, ain’t no doubt about that.”  


“Of course,” Monroe humors. “I better get to work. Thank you both very much. Bandits or not, this was a good thing.” He shakes Arthur’s hand, then yours. “Maybe it’ll get us killed, but it had to be done.”  


“Well,” you say, looking around. “I figure if Colonel Favours thinks it’s okay to rob from these people, then it’s our right to rob him back.”  


Monroe offers a rare smile and then begins rummaging in the box. You both say your farewells to him, heading back to the horses.  


“Hey,” Arthur says, settling into the saddle. “You wanna go fishin’?”  


“Fishing?” you reply. You haven’t gone fishing together in ages.  


“Sure. Was thinkin’ of stopping by that one-legged veteran’s house. He… asked me to go fishin’ with him in exchange for getting his leg back. Like I said, think you’d like him.”  


You shrug your shoulders. “If it gives us a reason not to go back to that awful camp, I’m okay with it.”  


He chuckles. “Figure you wouldn’t have a problem.”  


He guides you down the path out of Wapiti and further south and east. As you ride, he describes how he met this veteran, who’d been bucked off his horse named Buell after a snake spooked him. From how Arthur tells him, this man sounds like he’s not one to be messed with.  


After a short while, you travel along a ridge looking down into a small bowl-like valley, a lake tucked into it. Once you go down into the valley, you recognize it.  


“Isn’t this O’Creagh’s Run?”  


“Yes. That’s his cabin there.” Arthur points to a small cabin sitting on the edge of the lake, a tall cream-colored horse hitched to the porch.  


“I recognize this place,” you say. “I slept by this lake the night before I got attacked by the Murfrees.”  


Arthur nods. “Yes, Charles and I tracked you down here.” He hitches Artemis by the cream horse, you do the same. You look at the horse, with his unique coloring. His coat’s almost gold, but more white and his eyes are a pale blue. He snorts but doesn’t move at the sight of you.  


Arthur walks onto the porch and knocks on the door. From inside comes a voice: “The door’s open.”  


Arthur smiles at you and then opens it. “Hamish.”  


“Arthur,” the voice replies. “Come on in.”  


Arthur heads inside, taking your hand. You see the cabin’s small with just a table, kitchen, a few shelves, and a bed tucked behind a wall. A fireplace sits near the bed, a ram’s head hanging to the side of it.  


“You said we might go out fishing,” Arthur says, “but I wanted to introduce you to my future wife. Y/N, this is Hamish Sinclair.”  


Hamish, an older wild looking man with a thick grey and white beard, stands up, hobbling a little because of his fake leg. He shakes your hand and smiles.  


“Any friend of Arthur’s is a friend of mine,” he says. “He helped me in a spot of trouble to get me back my leg after my ass of a horse bucked me.”  


You can’t help but laugh. “Yes, Arthur told me about that.”  


Hamish looks at Arthur. “Well, it don’t take much persuading to get me to go fishing. Let’s go in my boat.”  


Arthur nods and holds the door open for Hamish and you. The three of you walk up to a boating dock by the cabin, a small boat attached to it. Arthur holds it steady while you and Hamish climb into it, Hamish taking the front.  


“So what we fishin’ for?” you ask as Arthur takes up the oars.  


"Only one thing worth catching in this lake. The great Tyrant. Mean as hell northern pike. Eats everything else that spawns around here, its own kind included.”  


As Arthur gets the oars situated, he begins turning the boat to point into the lake. “What’s our bait? A jack or somethin’?”  


“Hell no, he’s a clever old bastard.” Hamish shows you both some lures, explaining he made them himself. He hands the newer ones to you and Arthur, keeping a rather beaten-up lure for himself. You’d think he was being chivalrous, but Arthur’s taught you enough about fishing to know that the more beaten lures seem to attract more fish for some reason.  


Hamish points to a spot on the north end of the lake, just above an island with a tall, half naked pine tree on it. Arthur rows to it and then brings the boat to a stop. Hamish drops a small anchor.  


“He don’t keep far from me, the Tyrant,” Hamish says, slowly getting to his feet. “Wants me to know whose lake it is.”  


“We’ll show him who’s boss,” you say.  


Hamish laughs. “The optimism of youth.”  


You and Arthur pull out your reels and attach the new lures to them, casting off towards the island. Hamish explains he spent years making these lures, finding the right combination of feathers and glimmer to attract the biggest fish. He goes on to say how he tried multiple things to get the shine on them, including bullet casings and a metal.  


“Now I hear you can buy them in a shop,” he says sourly.  


“That wouldn’t be quite so satisfying,” Arthur says, “gettin’ him with somethin’ shop-bought.”  


“I’m inclined to agree.”  


The next few moments pass in relative silence. Despite the fact that nothing is happening with anyone’s poles, you aren’t bored. This lake is beautiful, and you enjoy the sounds of the birds and the water gently slapping the boat, the way the sun brushes your skin, the smell of the pines and the lake. Time seems to slow down, the chaos of the past few weeks ripples away, leaving a sense of peace. You realize that even though you’re life has changed so much the past year and a half, this place has never changed. It’s probably been exactly this way for hundreds of years, maybe even more. Although the idea makes you feel small and insignificant, it doesn’t make you feel sad. More humble than anything else.  


Suddenly Hamish’s pole bends at the tip. “Oh, what’s this?” he says excitedly. He jerks the reel back, setting the hook and then beginning to pull in the line. “I got something alright.” He lets out a shrill laugh, despite the fact that his pole’s bending ominously towards the water, signifying he’s got something big on the end.  


“Come on, Tyrant, I got you.” He bends the pole back again, trying to bring the catch closer. “I got you!” He stumbles back as the pole releases. “It went all slack! Come back.”  


He rights himself and begins pulling in the line again, the pole bending. Without warning, the pole jerks hard, sending Hamish into the water. You and Arthur scream for him, but he’s below the surface.  


“He weren’t wrong about naming it Tyrant,” you say as you both pull in and collapse your reels. 20 yards away, Hamish pops out of the water, Arthur calls to him again.  


“Stay there, I’ll row out to you.”  


“Row quick, bastard just bumped me!”  


Arthur rows quickly over to Hamish, who coughs and sputters a bit in the water. Once the boat’s stopped, Hamish swims surprisingly well the last few feet to the boat. You and Arthur bend down and work together, pulling him into the boat. After a brief inspection, you silently acknowledge he’s unhurt. At least he still has his leg.  


“You lose anything?” Arthur asks.  


“Just my rod,” Hamish grunts, pulling himself up to sit on the front seat. “Would’ve gotten my toes too if they weren’t wooden.”  


“If you want another go at him, I still got my rod,” Arthur offers.  


“Nah, he’s your fish now. Or maybe Y/N will show us up, catch him first.”  


You had only been warming up to Hamish before, but now you decide you like him. Arthur chuckles and sits down in the back, handling the oars to push the boat into an area so that you can cast into the spot Hamish popped up from. Once the anchor’s dropped again, you and Arthur reassemble your poles.  


“When he bumped me,” Hamish says, “I had to check twice. Thought I’d find a chunk of me missing.”  


“Man-eating pike,” Arthur says with a smile. “That would be a first.”  


“I’m not so sure. But our hopes of catching this bastard lie with you two.”  


You smile and throw the lure out into the area where the boat had just been. Arthur does the same, his lure plopping into the water a few yards to the left of yours. Slowly, you both begin pulling in the lines.  


After only a few seconds, Arthur’s line jerks hard. “Think I got him,” he says. He tugs on the line, setting the hook and begins pulling it in. A few rotations of his rod later, the line suddenly springs loose, the lure bobbing up to the surface.  


“Crap, he got off,” Arthur groans.  


As he’s checking his line to make sure it hasn’t tangled, yours suddenly jerks harder than you’ve ever felt before.  


“She got him!” Hamish declares excitedly. “Now don’t let him go!”  


You yank the reel back hard, trying to set the hook into his mouth. The fish struggles for a second and then tires, relaxing.  


“Pull him in,” Arthur says, dropping his lure. He stands behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders just as the fish begins fighting again. You tug on the line but stop pulling it in, allowing the fish to tire once more.  


“You got this, darlin’. Now don’t let him do to you what he did to Hamish.”  


Hamish laughs, leaning on the edge of the boat as you continue reeling. The fish starts fighting again, but you’re beginning to tire as well. He’s fought harder than any fish you’ve ever caught before. Arthur, seeming to sense your predicament, kisses your temple and squeezes your shoulders. “You can do this, sweetheart.”  


You yank the pole up again as the fish tires, reeling it in more. Finally you can see the massive form of the pike in the water a few feet below the surface. He glints brown and silver in the water before he twitches, fighting with a new surge of strength.  


“Keep a hold of him,” Hamish says.  


You do as he says and the fish tires again, allowing you to bring him to the edge of the boat. Hamish grabs a small club from under his seat and slams it into the pike’s head twice. Then, he grabs the massive pike and dumps him on the floor of the boat, pulls out his gun and bashes the fish’s head with the butt of his pistol.  


“Damn you, Tyrant!” he yells.  


The fish jerks and jiggles with each strike, his massive mouth opening and closing as he tries to breathe, displaying his relatively small but sharp teeth. After Hamish has smashed him a few times, the fish stops jerking, the mouth no longer gaping, a sizable dent in his head.  


After a second or two, Hamish sits down and leans against the side of the boat. He looks up and gives a triumphant holler.  


“I’m real sorry,” Arthur says, patting your shoulder as you finish catching your breath.  


“What are you sorry for?” Hamish gets to his feet. “You’re girl caught him.”  


Arthur huffs and rubs your back, taking your pole from your tired hands. He collapses it and then his.  


Hamish clambers back up into his seat. “Let’s row back,” he says.  


Arthur sits down and rows the boat back to the dock. He and Hamish tie the boat off and then Hamish climbs onto the dock.  


“Here, pass me the Tyrant. That is if you’re sure neither of you want him.”  


“Oh, we ain’t gonna poach from your pond,” Arthur says, handing over the long fish.  


“I’ll give him his honors then. He sure was something though, huh?”  


“Yeah he was,” you agree, admiring the red fins and finely spotted back and sides of the fish. Despite being a beast, he was a beautiful fish. You step onto the dock, followed by Arthur.  


“Thanks for takin’ us out,” Arthur says.  


“I appreciate the company,” Hamish replies. “But hey, you ever wanna go out huntin’, you stop by again. Both of you.”  


You nod enthusiastically. Arthur agrees. Hamish says his farewell and then goes into his cabin, closing the door.  


“You’re right,” you say, taking Arthur’s hand. “I like him.”  


He chuckles. “Knew you would.” He rubs your hands slowly, easing the soreness from your fingers. “You did good, sweetheart. Showed both us fishermen up.”  


You smile back at him and then stretch up, meeting his lips with yours. “Remember, you taught me how to fish. Along with a lot of other things.”  


He sighs and runs a thumb across your cheek. “Same goes for you, darlin’. I’ve learned a lot from you. Learned how to be quiet within myself, how to calm myself. I sometimes wonder if I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”  


“Oh hush,” you say. “You’re the toughest man I ever met. Nothing could take you down.”  


He laughs and kisses you again before taking your hand and walking over to the horses where you mount up. Arthur begins riding back in the direction of camp, but you stop him.  


“Arthur, I don’t wanna go back yet,” you say, hoping you don’t sound childish.  


“Why’s that?”  


“You know why. Not only is it because of the Murfrees and what they did, I just… I hate how everyone’s acting. I remember when you first brought me to camp, most folk were on good terms with each other, or at least friendly. Now it’s like you look at any of them the wrong way, they’ll tear your throat out with their bare teeth.”  


Arthur sighs and pulls Artemis to a stop. “I know, sweetheart. It makes me real sad. I known all them for a long time. It’s hard for me too, watching things turn out like this.”  


You sigh, patting Rannoch. “I keep wishing we had a way to change it, but the more things happen, it’s like we’re getting farther from where we wanna be.”  


“I know.” He looks down the path and then back to you. “We don’t have to go back now. But what do you wanna do in the meantime, darlin’?”  


“I, uh, I don’t know,” you admit. “I wanna go somewhere warm and… pretty.”  


He smiles at you. “Okay. Think I know of a place just down the path here. Ain’t too far.”  


He turns his horse to go in the opposite direction and canters off, you following in his stead. You travel down the trail for a quarter of an hour, the only change coming to the land is that the forest has grown thicker. The trail dips slightly, exposing a small pond with a cabin on the other side of it. Arthur stops here and looks at you expectantly.  


“This is Moonstone Pond. Not the biggest or prettiest place, but I think it’ll do. Unless you wanna go somewhere else.”  


You look over the small pond, nestled snugly between the thick trees. The pond seems to be shallow, you can see the large rocks at the bottom. Nodding your head to show your approval, you dismount Rannoch and walk to the water’s edge.  


“This is fine, Arthur. Maybe we can stay here the rest of the day, camp here tonight?”  


Arthur offers a small smile and dismounts Artemis, leading both horses off the path. He unsaddles Artemis, giving her an affectionate pat on the neck. “Get some rest, girl.”  


You’re about to do the same with Rannoch when Arthur stops you. “I’ll take care of him. Why don’t you go see if anyone lives in the cabin. Don’t wanna be intrudin’ on someone else’s land.”  


You nod and go over to the cabin. When you had first spotted it, you thought a large, thick tree had been growing right against the structure. Now that you’re close, you can see the tree isn’t growing at all. The massive pine had tipped probably months ago, crashing on the cabin and splitting it nearly in half. The stone foundation is the only thing left undestroyed.  


You wonder if there’s anything inside the cabin that you can take, food or jewelry, so you grab the doorknob and try to turn it. The metal knob is stiff from months of disuse and the elements. With some work, you finally open it, squeaking the door open. Light floods into the cabin, the fallen tree has surprisingly covered the opening it created. Bats shriek and flutter, startled by the light. The cabin reeks of their presence, but you ignore it. However, there is another odor here you instantly recognize: the stench of decay.  


Stepping into the cabin, you look around this half of the cabin, finding a small dresser. Opening it, you find a silver pocketwatch and take it. It makes you think of Lenny. For a brief second you think you’ll give it to him until you remember he’s been dead for weeks now. You’ve caught yourself doing that a few times, both with Lenny and Hosea. Their deaths had been so sudden you’ve still struggled to process it, despite the time that has passed.  


You shake your head and look around again, finding nothing more to raid on this side of the cabin. Just as you’re approaching the thick trunk of the tree, thinking you might climb it and go to the other side, the smell of decay grows so strong you can barely stand to breathe. Looking around, it doesn’t take long to see the source.  


Under the tree trunk, you see the smashed remains of a table and between them and the bark, a grayed and withered arm protrudes. You’re shocked, you didn’t think the poor bastard who lived here would have been unfortunate enough to be inside when the tree fell. You secretly hope he was the only one here and he didn’t have a wife or children. You decide to let the dead rest in peace and leave the cabin, closing the door behind you.  


“Anyone home?” Arthur asks, having just finished brushing Rannoch. You tell him what you found, including the corpse.  


“Well,” he says heavily. “So much for hoping for an abandoned cabin we could sleep in tonight.”  


“It’s fine, Arthur. Ain’t like we haven’t slept in your tent often enough.”  


He nods and looks out to the pond. “You wanna fish again? Be able to catch somethin’ fresh for dinner.”  


“Oh I think I’ve had my fair share of fishing for the day, Arthur. But why don’t you go ahead?”  


You sit down on a boulder nestled among a cluster of reeds. He smiles and pulls out his rod, reassembling it.  


“What are you gonna do?” he asks as he takes up a spot on the water’s edge and changes bait.  


“Think I’m gonna try my hand at drawing again. Probably going to do a poor job, but…”  


“Hey, everyone’s gotta start somewhere, sweetheart. I was a bad artist once too.”  


“Now that I don’t believe,” you say sarcastically as you pull out your journal. He laughs softly as he casts out.  


As Arthur fishes, you try and draw him standing on the bank of the pond along with the scenery. When you’re finished, you inspect it, sighing in frustration. Although the quality’s much better than when you first started drawing, it’s still pretty bad in your opinion. You turn the page and write about the things you’ve done since the last time you wrote. It’s a habit you’ve picked up from Arthur.  


When you were a kid and your grandmother was still alive, she had kept a journal. When she first tried to teach you to read, before your father found out and tore it all down, she tried to get you to keep a journal. It worked for a while but you found keeping a journal tedious, under the impressions that you had to write in it each day, even if nothing happened. It wasn’t just your father’s anger that had forced you to stop writing in your journal, it was also that you found it to be a chore.  


After you and Arthur fell in love, he had shown you a few pages in his journal. You joked that he wanted to show off his gorgeous handwriting, but you knew he genuinely trusted you enough to share those thoughts with you alone. Watching him write and reading what he chose to share with you made you realize that a journal wasn’t something you felt forced to write in, but only for you to decide what to do with it, even if it was jotting down the tiniest idea you didn’t want to forget. Now that you’ve picked up Arthur’s habit of keeping one, you wish you’d had it long before you met him.  


“How’s the drawin’ comin’?” he asks, collapsing his pole.  


You finish your sentence and sigh. “Not well, I’m afraid.” You turn the pages back to show him the poorly drawn scene. He sits on the boulder next to you, putting an arm around your shoulder.  


“Hey, it’s not that bad,” he says encouragingly.  


“Yours would be better,” you say.  


“Sweetheart, you keep comparin’ your work to mine, you’ll never get better. You got plenty of room to grow and learn. When you say things like that, you prevent yourself from usin’ that potential. Now come on, get a fresh page and I’ll show you a few tricks.”  


You sigh and turn to a blank page. Arthur takes your hand in his, keeping the pencil in your grip. He points out certain details of the land, the water, the plants and shows you how to hold the pencil to get them to look right. When it’s done, it looks much better than your previous attempt.  


“Still doesn’t look as good,” you say. “If you were in it, it’d be perfect.”  


You look at him and smile when he blushes.  


“That ain’t no way to describe me, miss,” he says, hiding his eyes with his hat the way he does when he’s embarrassed.  


“Why not? I’m only telling the truth.”  


“I ain’t perfect, sweetheart. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”  


“Who hasn’t, Arthur? I’ve done a lot of stupid things for even dumber reasons, yet you’ve told me everyday for months how beautiful and perfect you think I am.”  


“Is it working?” he asks. “Me telling you that?”  


You smile and look down at your journal. “Well, I still think you’re a liar, but I… I might be gentler with myself when things go wrong.”  


He rubs your back. “Then I’ll just keep on sayin’ em.”  


Still smiling, you lean into him, grabbing his hand as you watch the sun set below the mountains. It’s hard to believe that the last time Arthur had shown you some drawing tips, it had been right before your first kiss.You lift his hand and kiss it.  


He kisses your temple, then your cheek and then your neck, making you sigh happily.  


“How about we get dinner made and then we get our tent up and have some fun?” he purrs in your ear.  


If the path didn’t skirt the pond, you’d already be throwing Arthur down on the ground and straddling him, but instead you just nod. Arthur unwinds his arm from behind you and stands up, setting up the tent while you make a crude fire pit with rocks, logs and kindling.  


Arthur fillets the fish while you set his grill over the fire. Once he’s done, he sets the meat on the grill and then sits next to you. His fingertips trace over your shoulder blades, sending goose bumps across your skin. You look at him, the skin of his neck and chest shining ever so slightly in the firelight. It makes you bite your lip. Without thinking, you lean in and start kissing his neck.  


He groans, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “Darlin’, why don’t you wait until the fish is done cookin’?”  


“Forget the fish,” you purr, your fingers finding the buttons of his shirt and working them loose.  


“Come on, sweetheart,” he pulls you up gently. You look up into his eyes, but it’s obvious he really doesn’t want you to stop. “We’ll eat quick, okay?”  


Arthur keeps his promise but once the fish is cooked and eaten, he acts like he’s prepared to stay out here under the stars. He leans back on the rock behind him, putting his hands behind his neck.  


“Well come on, Arthur,” you say, standing up and holding out your hand. “Thought we were gonna have some fun?”  


His eyes are hidden beneath his hat, but he tips his head up and gives you the cheekiest smirk. He’s teasing you again. You sit down next to him again, settling yourself to rest against his side. His hand settles on your back again and you start kissing his neck once more. His head tips back as he sighs while your fingers work on his buttons, tugging his shirt open. You smile at the fact that he’s not wearing his union suit again. He’s been doing that less and less, almost like he knows that when the two of you are outside camp alone, you’re much more likely to have sex.  


Once his shirt’s undone, your hand glides down to his groin and you squeeze him gently. He groans once more, you can feel him hardening beneath his jeans. Without warning, he stands up, picking you up and carrying you into the tent.  


Once inside, he closes the tent flaps and turns back to you, his eyes dark and hungry. Without saying a word, his hands unbutton his pants, springing his length loose. You look at it for a moment smiling, then you stand up and unbutton your shirt, throwing it off and stripping out of your pants, leaving yourself in nothing but your undergarments. Arthur finishes ripping his clothes off. You’re just about to take off your chemise when Arthur’s hands grab yours.  


“Let me,” he growls softly. He quickly throws off your chemise and then rips your bloomers down, leaving you naked. His fingers find your hard nipples, stiffened from the cool air. Gently, he guides you down to the ground, his lips crashing against yours as his hands squeeze your breasts. Your legs wrap around his waist, waiting for him to enter you. Instead, his lips leave yours.  


“Try not to move,” he whispers in your ears.  


You’re about to ask him what he’s going to do when his right hand brushes between your breasts, glides down your stomach and finds your slit. You moan when his fingers spread them, tickling your core. Your hips want to thrust, but you remember his command, which leaves you lying still although you’re shivering with anticipation.  


His fingers circle your core again and again, causing you to twitch as jolts shoot down to your toes. He’s kissing your neck as he does this, which only makes things worse. You groan when one of his fingers slides into you, followed by another.  


“Please, Arthur,” you beg, your nails digging into his back.  


He answers by withdrawing his fingers and inserting his length into you, spreading your walls until he’s buried to the hilt. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to his width. Then he pulls back and slams into you, making you grunt.  


“Oh, Arthur,” you sigh as he thrusts into you again and again.  


“Love those pretty sounds you make,” he growls in your ear. He takes your knees and pushes them up, opening you wider and he goes even deeper. You have to grit your teeth to stop from making some loud noise as he pumps into you, his cock brushing your spot.  


He must be able to see the effort you’re making into being quiet. He kisses just under your jaw.  


“Come on, sweetheart. Ain’t no one out here but us two. Let it out.”  


Your eyes roll back into your head as his fingers find your slit again, rubbing your clit once more. Your fingers dig in so deep you’re sure you’ll find bloody scratches on his back in the morning. He kisses your jaw again and again as he thrusts, working your jaw loose. He’s intent on making you cry out, which he’s already close to doing.  


His pace quickens with his thrusts and his hand circles faster, pressing harder into your body. “I wanna hear you scream, girl,” his lips brush your neck.  


“Arthur,” you gasp beneath him. “God, you’re close. Just, just keep going.”  


You’re still shivering beneath him as his cock continues to pound into you, writhing within your walls. His fingers, however, slow down in pace as he makes lazy circles around your clit, making you go wild. A strong warmth grows in your stomach and then travels down to your slit, exploding as he circles again and you cry out, your back arching as you press yourself against him.  


“Fuck!” you say once your release passes.  


“Good girl,” he purrs in your ear. His hands plant on your hips and he thrusts harder and faster into you, building the friction and leading to his own release. You look down between your bodies to see him moving in and out, your legs spread wide.  


“C-can I move now?” you ask, your voice shaky.  


He simply grunts, giving you permission. You lift your hips, giving him a better angle and grinding against him, helping to build him up. Without intention, you can feel your second already rising.  


“Oh God, Arthur,” you moan. “Keep going.”  


He smiles and obeys, his cock brushing your spot again and again until finally, with one last hard thrust, he explodes inside you. He curses as he does so, then he thrusts a few more times, gentler with each pulse. You can feel your orgasm ebbing away as he removes his cock from you.  


“Arthur, please,” you beg. “Just… a little more. One more.”  


He chuckles and slides both hands up your thighs. With one hand, he spreads your folds, completely exposing you. The other brushes between you. Your hips jerk up and down as he moves.  


“Oh God, Arthur,” you say again, your eyes closed. “Fuck!”  


He laughs gently, delicately working between your legs. “You look good like this, darlin’,” he cooes. His hand spreads you even further, allowing him better access to your sensitive, pulsing nub. Your hands squeeze the bedroll, the fabric crumpling in your grip as your legs suddenly shoot out straight as your second orgasm takes control. He stimulates you again and again, prolonging your release, making you squeal.  


“Easy, girl,” he says as you settle, his voice deep. You pant, still lying on your back.  


“Jesus, Arthur,” you say once you’ve caught your breath. “That was incredible.”  


“Yes, but I need my round two.”  


He bends down and kisses you as his cock slides into you once more, making you wince. He works quickly this time, bringing himself to his release within only a few moments. He explodes a second time inside you, filling you up.  


“God, you feel so good,” he says, collapsing onto you. You struggle to breathe beneath his body; he’s much larger than you are.  


“Arthur,” you gasp. “Can’t… breathe.”  


“Sorry, darlin’,” he says, rolling over. You take a deep breath and then curl into the crook of his arm, laying your head on his sweaty chest, suddenly exhausted. His hand slides up your back, drawing lazy circles across your skin. He kisses your forehead.  


“Go to sleep, darlin’.”  


As if on command, you close your eyes and immediately fall asleep.


	28. The Widow of Willard's Rest

Warnings: swearing, mild blood 

Word count: ~7000 

The next morning finds you waking up curled against Arthur’s side, trying to absorb his warmth and avoid the chill. After opening your eyes, you see his eyes are still closed. Brushing your hands gently across his bare chest, his hand on your exposed shoulder moves slowly, rubbing your skin. He sighs, so you stretch up and place a lazy kiss on his jaw.  


“Morning, cowboy,” you say.  


He sighs again and cracks his eyes open. “Mornin’, beautiful. You cold?”  


You nod. He rolls over onto his side, pulling you tight against his chest and draping the blanket to cover your shoulders. You bury your head into his chest, curling your arms to your sides.  


After a short while, Arthur sighs again, sounding more awake. “I know you ain’t gonna have a problem with this, darlin’, but there’s somewhere I wanna go before we go back to camp.”  


“Okay. Where to?”  


“I been hearin’ rumors of a big white moose up above Brandywine Falls. Wanted to go lookin’ for it.”  


“Okay,” you say again.  


He pats your shoulder and extracts himself from your grip, sitting up and pulling his clothes back on. You do the same, even pulling out your duster. Arthur restarts the fire to make some coffee. You wander the area, coming across a nest near the pond with nine eggs inside. It looks like a duck’s nest so you take three of them, hoping the mother duck won’t notice. You show Arthur your find and he nods approvingly.  


After eating a quick breakfast of duck eggs and tinned biscuits, you both pack up and leave the spot. A pair of riders waves to you from the path as you grab Rannoch’s saddle; you return the gesture.  


You both saddle back up and Arthur leads you up the path and towards the train tracks crossing through Ambarino, explaining it’ll be the most direct route. You just hope you don’t run into a train on your way there. Arthur guides you east along the tracks for quite a long while, making small talk with you. The scenery changes once more from the gray rocks and green meadows back to the thick oak forests of Roanoke. After seeing a tiny, abandoned train station, you realize where you are. Recalling the strange scientist Marko Dragic, you look up the path and see the familiar metal ball.  


“You ever wonder about him?” you ask Arthur.  


“Who?”  


“Dragic, that funny scientist with his walking metal man?”  


“Oh, him. To be honest, I ain’t given him much more thought. We’ve had a lot goin’ on since then.”  


“Should we stop by? See how he’s doing?”  


Arthur agrees and you both abandon the train tracks and dash up the path towards the laboratory. Once the horses are hitched by the back entrance, you walk slowly up to the double doors. Last time you were here, the place had been full of light and noise, but now it sits dark and still. Too still.  


“Hold on, darlin’,” Arthur says. He seems to be as suspicious as you. He opens the door slowly, one hand on the butt of his pistol. “Hello?” he calls out. No answer. Over his shoulder, you can see the interior of the building looks exactly the same, only nothing seems to be on.  


Arthur opens the door further and takes a step inside. He looks around. “Shit.”  


“What?” you ask.  


“Well, professor’s here.”  


You walk inside and stand beside Arthur. Lying on the ground in front of the metal cage that housed the electrified metal man lies the professor in a pool of dried blood. He’s been here a day, maybe two, the stench of his decay filling the room.  


Arthur approaches the body to inspect it. You look around, wondering where the metal man is. It seems to no longer be here.  


“He’s been stabbed,” Arthur says, picking up an electrified lantern laying near the body.  


“Where’s his creation?” you ask.  


“Don’t know.”  


“Do you think it killed him?”  


“I couldn’t say, darlin’. I don’t know if it could have, all it did was waddle a few steps.”  


“It’s been a long time since we were here, Arthur. He could have done more work on it, given it better capabilities to move on its own. So either it killed him or someone killed him and stole it.”  


“Shame. I kind of liked him. He didn’t tell either of us how to think, despite bein’ smart as he was.”  


You nod and then ask to leave. This place gives you the creeps. Arthur closes the door behind you and you both mount up, heading east once more. After only a matter of minutes, you come upon a wide and tall waterfall. The cliff it pours from looms high over your heads. The river is even wider than the falls, but it seems to be relatively shallow. 

The forest lies thick on the edges of the river, and there’s a small island near the railroad bridge that crosses the river.  


Arthur guides his horse across the river to the other side, thinking he might pick up the tracks of the moose on the other side of the falls where the land rises slightly, the forest thinning a little. You follow and then split off, saying you want to try and fish again.  


As you approach the roaring falls, you can tell the river is deeper here. You dismount and bring out your pole, change bait and toss the lure into the river. After several moments, you’re getting no action, despite seeing fish jumping. They just aren’t interested in your bait.  


Sighing, you hear the sound of Arthur’s voice over the falls. He isn’t yelling though. Sounds like he’s talking to someone. You pull in your reel and collapse your rod, wandering in the direction of his voice. As you get closer, another voice joins his. A woman’s.  


“If you need any poisonous berries, I’m a natural at finding those,” the voice says as you walk slowly up to the path.  


“Well,” Arthur says, “you ain’t gonna last much longer out here if you don’t know how to hunt. Come on, I’ll show you.”  


As you walk over the rise, you see Arthur with his back to you, staring at a pale woman in dirty clothes standing next to a fresh grave. Her eyes are red as though she’d been crying. She doesn’t notice you as she looks at him, glances back to the grave and then back to him. She stares at him challengingly.  


“Alright. But you better not try any funny business. Now I may be weak but I still know how to stand up for myself.”  


“Oh, that I don’t doubt,” he says. “Besides, ya ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m a soon-to-be happily married man.”  


You approach, not worried about keeping quiet. Your footsteps draw both their attentions. Arthur smiles. “Ah, speakin’ of which, there she is.”  


He pulls you in with one arm and then looks back at the woman. “Ma’am, let Y/N and I show you how to hunt. You mind, darlin’?”  


“No, course not.”  


The woman smiles, relaxing at the sight of you. “You’re both very kind to do this.”  


You smile at her as Arthur slowly walks down the path, beckoning you to follow him. “Tell me,” he says, “you ever skinned an animal before?”  


“No,” she replies. “Then again, I haven’t caught anything either.” You can tell by the tone of her voice she’s unsure.  


“Well, you’ll need to know how to do both if you’re gonna survive out here. Let’s see if we can find anything in the trees down here, near the river.”  


He leads you both to where the train tracks form a bridge across the river. The trees are thick here, bushes and clumps of tall grass sit at their feet. Perfect spot for hunting small game.  


“What happened to your husband, if you don’t mind me asking?” Arthur asks the woman.  


“Bear got him. He survived but only for a couple of days. It was horrible. I buried him a week ago.”  


“I’m sorry.”  


“This was really his dream more than mine. I’d have hopped the next train back to Chicago if he’d said the word, but now… I don’t know how to explain it. I have to do this.”  


“I understand,” you say. You can somewhat sympathize with her. If Arthur had asked to live somewhere secluded like this and died, you’d try and live there too as a way to honor what he wanted in life. You curse silently as the thought of your dead husband creeps into your mind, how you did the exact opposite with him. You hope memories of him will fade as you make more of them with Arthur as your husband.  


Arthur stops and puts a finger to his lips, gesturing you both into silence. He looks around carefully through the trees and bushes. You do as well, looking for any signs of small game.  


“What are we looking for?” the woman asks quietly.  


With a whisper, Arthur replies, “Think we should start with something small. I kill it, you skin it. Sound fair?”  


“But I don’t even have a knife with me.”  


“You won’t need one,” you say. “Smaller animals are easier to skin.”  


She nods her head, although she looks worried.  


You look around again and suddenly spot a rabbit nibbling on the low hanging branches of a thick bush. You bump Arthur gently in the side, pointing to it. He nods to you.  


“Take him down, sweetheart.” He grabs the woman’s attention and points to the rabbit. “See him there? Stay quiet and still. Watch her.”  


You stand up slowly and pull out your pistol. Quietly, you pull back the hammer and aim for the rabbit’s head. You pull the trigger and the trees echo with the sound of the shot. The rabbit doesn’t even squeak, it just falls where it stood.  


The woman jumps. “Oh my! Good shot.”  


The three of you approach the dead rabbit and Arthur instructs her how to hold it in order to skin it. She hesitates and then picks it up by the hind legs. She starts tugging on the tail, but nothing happens.  


“You need to pull hard and fast,” Arthur says. “Skin should just come right off.”  


The woman closes her eyes and tugs again, rests and tugs again, harder this time. The skin suddenly rips and comes off. “Oh!” she says, shocked. “It worked!”  


“That’s all there is to it,” Arthur says with a smile. “Ya did good.”  


The woman sighs and drops the skin. “I… I think I’ve seen enough blood for one day. Mind if we head back? My cabin’s just up the path.”  


You and Arthur both agree and begin walking up the path with her.  


“That rabbit should keep you fed for a few days,” you say encouragingly to her.  


She smiles at you, the rabbit slung across her shoulder. “Oh yes, at least. Thank you both so much.”  


Arthur looks around admiringly. “This really ain’t a bad spot. Got a good water source. Lots of game. It’s remote, but you could survive here alright.”  


“I have no doubt one can survive here,” she says with a small laugh. “Whether Charlotte Balfour can is a different matter. You two have probably lived your whole lives outdoors.”  


“I haven’t,” you say. “I grew up in a big town, lived with another man for several years just outside Armadillo until he died about a year and a half ago.” You decide to spare her the details of the true nature of how he died. “When he passed, I decided to try and live outdoors as a way to… process his death. About six months ago, Arthur found me.”  


Arthur chuckles and brushes your hand with his. “I’ve lived a lot of mine out here, that’s for sure.”  


“I’d barely left the city before coming here,” Charlotte admits. She goes on to tell the story of her husband Cal, who grew up partially in the wild. Despite it, he knew little about surviving in a place like this.  


Just as she’s finishing the story, a low growl comes from the right side of the path where the land rises. A bush shudders and a lone wolf prowls out of it, snarling with spit flying from its jaws.  


“Oh Lord,” Charlotte says. “We’re done for now.”  


“It’s the rabbit,” you say. “He smells the blood.”  


Arthur hollers at the wolf, trying to scare the wolf off. Instead, another wolf comes over the rise. It snarls and suddenly, both dogs are bounding towards your group. Arthur whips out his pistol and shoots the first one in the eye. He misses the other one, but your revolver is already out and you shoot it in the neck. The wolf yelps and runs off the way it had come, leaving nothing behind but pained howls and a thin trail of blood.  


“Oh thank God,” Charlotte says. She had dropped the rabbit and hunkered down behind Arthur. She picks it up, slinging it back over her shoulder. “You see? If you two hadn’t have been here, I’d be dead by now.”  


Arthur holsters his pistol. “You got a gun?”  


“Yes, well my husband had a rifle.”  


“Good. I suggest you learn how to use it.”  


The three of you continue on up the path, more relaxed now that it’s unlikely the wolf or other predators will appear.  


Charlotte sighs behind you. “Ever since we got here, it feels like every step forward has come with a hundred steps back. People always talk about the simplicity of country living, but there’s nothing simple about it.”  


“Well, we all gotta be adaptable to whatever life throws at us, even if we’re armed with nothing but our own knowledge,” you say.  


“Please,” Charlotte says with a small laugh. “I’m sure it wouldn’t take either of you too long to adjust to a privileged life in the city.”  


“I don’t know about that,” Arthur says. “It sounds awful.”  


“Oh it is. A truly empty and boring existence, but an undeniably easy one.”  


You pass the grave of Charlotte’s husband and she sighs heavily. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.” You and Arthur accompany her in silence up the slight hill until you reach the wooden archway marking her property. She continues walking towards the cabin, a shed beside it, and does not question or comment when you both continue on with her. She walks up the steps and opens her front door before turning to you and Arthur standing near the stairs.  


“Thank you,” she says. “That was the first time anyone’s done anything nice for us. Or, for me.”  


Arthur says, “Nature provides but she sure don’t always make it easy.”  


“No she doesn’t. I’d invite you in, but I’m dead on my feet. Please do call again sometime, both of you. A good rest and hopefully I’ll be a new woman. Perhaps I’ll even look as good as your future wife.”  


You blush and smile. Arthur chuckles. “Oh, you already ain’t far from that, ma’am. Now you take care.” He tips his hat to her. She smiles and closes the door.  


You and Arthur turn down the path and wander back to the river where the horses are. “Ah, Arthur,” you say teasingly. “You two would be so cute together!”  


He laughs as he mounts up. “Too bad I’m already spoken for, darlin’.”  


“Hey, what about your moose?” you say from near Rannoch.  


“Ah, I nearly forgot.” He dismounts again and grabs his bow.  


“Right,” you chuckle. “You nearly forgot the one reason you came up here.”  


He just laughs softly and kisses the back of your head. “Go back to your fishing.”  


As he walks away, you playfully smack his ass and he turns and gives you a playful glare before going back into the trees to find any signs of the moose.  


A few hours pass and he finally finds it. You’re leaning against Rannoch, who’s lying in the grass near the river, reading a book. You had fished for a while as you waited for Arthur, but after catching a massive trout, you decided to call it a day.  


Artemis walks over to you with Arthur on her back. Behind him sits a large rolled-up white moose skin, the velvety antlers tucked into it.  


“You caught another gargantuan fish?” he says when he sees your catch strapped to Rannoch’s back.  


You laugh and stand up, closing your book. “Yup. Guess I’m just lucky.”  


“Well, come on. Let’s go sell these things. But we really do need to get back to camp. Who knows what’s happened since we been gone?”  


You sigh and mount up. After selling the fish and the moose pelt, you both head back to Beaver Hollow. Upon arrival, it doesn’t seem to have changed much except that the mood seems heavier. You and Arthur head off to your tent to drop off a few things. You’re just about to go and help the other girls do chores when you turn and smack right into Dutch. He doesn’t react, nor does he pay any attention to you. His hard eyes glare at Arthur.  


“Arthur,” he says. “Where have you been? You’ve hardly been here for days.”  


“I know, Dutch,” Arthur turns to him. “I’m real sorry, but we were out helpin’ a few folk we bumped into.”  


“None of those folk happen to come with a badge, do they Morgan?” Micah’s unpleasant voice simpers from behind Dutch.  


“Excuse me?” Arthur snarls. “You got any idea who you’re talkin’ to?”  


“I’m talkin’ to someone who’s actions can’t be accounted for,” Micah replies. “There’s likely still a rat, cowpoke, and with you sneaking off so much with your girl…”  


Arthur stomps over to Micah, but Dutch puts his arms up. “Now I doubt Arthur is the one spying on us, Micah. He’s… he’s like my son, I known him for twenty years.”  


Arthur stares defiantly at Micah, who sneers at him. “I don’t doubt your judgement on his character, boss. But his accountability is definitely questionable, wouldn’t you say?”  


“Micah,” you spit, “if anyone’s trust is to be questioned, it’s yours. You don’t give a damn about nobody but yourself! Hell, everyone in this dump of a camp would be starving if it weren’t for me and Arthur.”  


“Now you watch your goddamn mouth, you-”  


“Enough!” Dutch hollers. “I don’t want any of this finger pointing from anyone. But Arthur, we’ve needed you. I have needed you around. We can’t get out of here without everyone’s help. All I’m asking for is some loyalty, son. If we all work together on getting out of this dump,” he puts emphasis on your word, “then we can get out that much sooner.”  


Dutch throws a glare your way before turning to leave. Arthur glowers at him and Micah. Just before he turns to follow Dutch, Micah says, “Keep your eyes peeled, big man. With so many recent deaths, I’d hate for anything bad to happen to your girl, fiery as she is.”  


“You stay away from her, Micah,” Arthur growls. “You so much as stare at her in a way I don’t like, I’ll put a hole in your head.”  


Micah snickers and heads off, spitting to the side as he does. Across the clearing, he coughs slightly. You wonder if he’s picking up a cold or something, he’s been coughing more and more lately since returning from Guarma.  


Arthur sighs heavily and relaxes. You put a comforting hand to his shoulder. “Just ignore him, Arthur. He’s just trying to get you to do something stupid. Don’t fall for his bait.”  


“I won’t,” he says and takes your hand to kiss it. He sighs and looks around for a moment. “I was worried somethin’ like this was gonna happen?”  


“What?”  


“More of Dutch’s raning. I understand he wants to get us all out of here, I’m 100% behind him on that goal. But the way he’s goin’ about doin’ it…”  


“I know. Like you said though, let’s think about helping John and his family get out. Then you and I can worry about getting ourselves good and lost.”  


He nods and starts heading out of the tent, you follow him. That is when you notice Trelawney sitting at the round table. While he’s flitted in and out of camp more often than in the past, you’re still surprised to see him. A suitcase sits at his feet and he looks around worriedly. Arthur notices him too and approaches.  


“Josiah,” he says.  


Trelawney looks up at him. “Oh, hello I um, I was just…”  


“Leaving again?” Arthur takes a seat and you do the same.  


“Yes, just leaving. I’ll see you soon.”  


Arthur rubs his nose. “Perhaps. But if I was you, I’d disappear too. This,” he looks around. “This is all pretty much over.”  


Trelawney looks as though he’s trying to decide if Arthur’s joking. “Well, I’ll be back, Mr. Morgan.”  


“No you won’t, let’s not pretend anymore. Get outta here.” Arthur speaks gently, there is no anger in his voice.  


Trelawney sighs, as though relieved. “Well, I’ll miss you, Arthur. And you, Miss.” He nods his head to you politely. “I, uh, must say I was rather looking forward to being at your wedding. However, with things as they are…”  


He stops. You’re rather taken by surprise. The last person you expected to be willfully present at your wedding was Trelawney. You can’t deny you aren’t touched by his words. While he’s rarely been present in camp, you can recall the times he tried to entertain you and the other girls during chores, pulling ravens out of books and turning pebbles to marbles and giving them to Jack. You return the nod.  


“Thank you, Josiah. I hope you have a good life.”  


“You’ve both been fine friends to me,” he says, standing up.  


Arthur follows his motion. “Now let’s not get over-sentimental. Go on, place is quiet. You go with my blessing.”  


Trelawney sighs in relief again. “Thank you, Arthur.” He picks up his suitcase and quickly heads off to the horses without glancing back.  


Arthur sighs heavily and sits back down. You reach for his hand, suddenly sad that Trelawney’s gone. You wonder if he will be the only one to leave and not come back. You’re torn between the hopes that he’s not the last to leave and also not wanting everyone else to go. These people, despite their flaws and the troubles you’ve all gone through, have been more of a family to you than your real family ever was. It breaks your heart to see how upside down things have turned. Only a few months ago, you recall how fighting was uncommon. Now it seems to be all people do in camp. There’s no singing, no laughter. Just yelling and sharp words thrown in every direction. You look at Arthur; he seems to be feeling the same way.  


Someone walks from the west side of the camp from the trees lying between the camp and the path. You look up and see Charles. He’s not alone.  


“Found a friend looking for you,” he says to Arthur.  


Rains Fall steps to Charles’s side. He nods in greeting to you and Arthur.  


Arthur stands up respectively. “Sir.”  


“I’m sorry to impose on you again,” Rains Fall says. “But I believe I’ve made progress brokering peace. Colonel Favours has agreed to a meeting to discuss and maybe resolve his alleged grievances and mine.”  


Charles wipes off a barrel by the table and gestures for Rains Fall to sit, but he doesn’t. He continues, “Now he has lied to me more times than I care to remember. But I am hopeful that this time, he must want peace. Why would he want to torment us any further?”  


Arthur rubs his chin before answering. “We got words for his kind, but they’re colloquial.”  


Rains Fall nods solemnly. “I was hoping I could make one last request of you, Mr. Morgan. My men are not allowed to carry arms.”  


“You want us to keep the peace?” Arthur beckons to himself and Charles.  


“It’ll be a lot of dull talking and ceremony,” Rains Fall says. “But I feel with some non-tribe members present, his chances of lying or worse will be reduced. Will you, Arthur?”  


Arthur nods. “This ain’t my fight, but yes, I will go.”  


“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”  


You step up beside Arthur. “I’ll go, too.”  


Rains Fall looks at you in such a way you worry if you’ve stepped over a line. “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ms. Y/L/N, I’m afraid the army would not feel the same way. Colonel Favours is a traditional man and he may find your presence suspicious. I’m afraid it may be best if you remain here.”  


Arthur pats your shoulder. “He’s right, darlin’, as much as I hate sayin’ it.”  


You nod to Rains Fall, but say nothing. You’re not surprised that this Colonel Favours would probably be offended simply by your face, but it doesn’t make you less irritated. Rains Fall leads Arthur and Charles to the horses and they ride off.  


You sigh and are about to go off and help the girls with laundry when Sadie walks up to you. She’s holding a repeater and stops you.  


“Guess Grimshaw wants you on guard duty,” she says. “She also mentioned if you sneak away while doing it, she’ll butcher you and hang your skin to dry.” Sadie says the words in a mocking attempt of Grimshaw’s voice. She smiles. “I told her to go pound sand, but here you go.”  


You laugh with her and take the repeater. She heads off to her own tent and you take point in the trees, ready to take on the boring task of keeping watch.  


An hour passes and you’re sitting at the base of one of the trees. You hear someone walking up the path from the direction of camp. You get up to see who it is and find Reverend Swanson, his hair finely swept back, his mustache trimmed. He carries a bag in each hand. He pauses when he sees you.  


“Reverend?” you say partially in greeting, partially in confusion.  


"Ah, hello, Mrs. Morgan.” He’s been calling you that since Arthur announced you were in engaged. Not that you mind.  


“Heading somewhere?” you ask, trying not to sound accusatory. He hunches his shoulders and looks away as though ashamed.  


“I, um, I’m leaving,” he says after checking you’re both far enough away not to be overheard.  


“Why?” Out of all the people to leave after Trelawney, Reverend was the last person you expected.  


“I tried to make Dutch see sense, but he’s very strange recently.”  


You nod. “I know. But what about everyone else? You’ve been such a comfort to the others.” You recall up in Colter how Reverend read from the bible, trying to bring hope to the freezing camp. You’ve never been religious, but you appreciated his efforts. Since arriving at Beaver Hollow, he’s been reading aloud from his bible once more.  


“I asked them to come with me, but they wouldn’t. I’m a changed man, Y/N.” Reverend finally looks at you and you can see the clearness of his eyes. They’re no longer bloodshot or misty. Clear, brown and determined. “I can’t die for a bunch of nonsense spouted by a fool. I don’t want you and Arthur or any of the others to die for him either.”  


You sigh and nod slowly. “I understand. I, um, well. To be honest, I think Arthur and I would have left a while ago, but we want to try and save some of them. I just hope we can before Dutch has the chance to get us all killed.”  


Reverend looks at you hard. A light comes in his eyes you’ve only seen in two people: Rains Fall and that Brother Dorkins fellow you met in Saint Denis.  


“You and Arthur,” he begins, “you’re not good people, but you’re not bad either. Your journey, your path will be just fine. And whatever comes your way, you’ll do just right.”  


You smile sadly and look away. “I don’t know about that. I’ve never been a truly good person, Mr. Swanson. When I was younger, I was a drunk until my father beat me badly enough to be afraid of continuing to be one. A few years later, I shot him and my husband and burned my mother alive. After joining this gang, I’ve killed more people than I care to count and robbed even more.”  


“Well, I have faith in you even if you have none for yourself. But you and Arthur, save who you can and let the rest rot and look after yourselves. You’ve both led difficult lives, you’ve earned the right to live the rest of it peacefully.”  


“Maybe. We’ll see.” At this moment, you feel like your chances of escaping with Arthur are slim. It’s not just Arther’s unwavering loyalty to Dutch, though it’s been badly shaken recently. It’s Dutch’s determination and madness, aided by the hissed whispering of Micah in his ear.  


Reverend sets one of his bags down and puts his hand on your shoulder. “You do see, you just can’t admit it to yourself. I’ve been keeping a close eye on you since you joined us, Mrs. Morgan. You’ve made some mistakes, no questioning that. But you also possess a calm and unbiased nature. You’ve been good for Arthur. He was a man of violence for many years, but he’s learned to be calm, to be less quick with his trigger. He was never a bad man, but after meeting you he turned into a good one.”  


You look up at him, wondering if he’s being honest. His eyes tell you he is, or at least telling you the version of his truth. “Thank you, Reverend. You be careful out there, okay? World ain’t as friendly as we used to be.”  


He smiles at your bad joke. “I will try. You keep Arthur safe, I know he’ll die doing the same for you.” He pauses and his eyes seem to be far away. “You and Arthur turned out to be some of the best people I’ve known. If we were all more like you, perhaps things could have turned out differently.”  


You huff slightly. “Ain’t no use in getting sentimental, Reverend. Now go on, I’m sure Arthur wouldn’t blame you for leaving either.”  


He nods and picks up his bag again. Without another word, he walks on down the path. You watch him until he disappears, feeling sad and incredibly lonely.  


A few more hours pass when you hear a horse coming up the path. You grip the repeater tightly until you see Charles coming up. Arthur is nowhere in sight, so you ask him.  


“He met someone at the train station,” Charles explains.  


“Why was he at the train station?” you ask.  


“We, uh, had to escort Monroe there.”  


“Why?”  


Another horse comes up the path and you see Arthur. Charles nods to him. “I’ll let Arthur explain.” Charles prods Taima on towards the path as Arthur approaches. His face is set and heavy.  


“Arthur, what happened?”  


“Oh, whole thing was a mess.” He dismounts and sits down at the base of one of the trees. When you’re settled next to him, he explains how Rains Fall and Favours chatted for a few moments, how Favours accused Rains Fall’s people to be criminals, though they’d done nothing wrong.  


“From what Rains Fall told me about Favours,” Arthur says, “I didn’t have much reason to like him. But when I heard the way Favours talked to him. I don’t think I’d like much else than to put a bullet in that man’s brain. Anyways, he tried to have Monroe court marshalled, so Charles and I got him out of there. Had to shoot half of Favour’s men to do it.”  


“Rains Fall was still there when you did this?” you ask, fearing the worst.  


“No. No, he had left at that point. Knew talking wouldn’t do much good. Monroe was arguing with Favours when Rains Fall left, that’s what led to him being court marshalled.”  


You sigh, relieved. After a moment, you tell him about Reverend leaving. He shakes his head sadly.  


“I ain’t surprised. What I’m more surprised about is that more haven’t done so sooner, way things are.”  


You nod and take his hand. “To be honest, if I wasn’t engaged to you, Arthur, I would have left with him and Trelawney. I honestly doubt things will get better from here.”  


“I know. I want to leave too, darlin’, but John…”  


“I know. And we’ll try, Arthur. Has John said anything further about leaving with Abigail and Jack?”  


“No. He still seems very torn about loyalty to Dutch. I understand why he is, it was all I believed in once, too. But there comes a point when you have to question if the loyalty you feel towards a mad man is worth it.”  


“So if we shouldn’t be loyal to Dutch anymore, what should we be loyal to?”  


“Be loyal to what matters, darlin’. It’s what I told John. At this point, Dutch’s grand plan ain’t worth it, not if it means gettin’ us all killed or worse.”  


Something in the trees behind you rustles and you look, but you can’t see anyone there in the gloom of the setting sun. You get a strange feeling as though someone’s there, watching you. Turning back, you suggest to Arthur you talk about something else just in case someone might be listening. He nods.  


“Guess who I ran into?” he says.  


He tells you about the nun he met who was with Brother Dorkins. “Guess she’s bein’ sent off to a mission in Mexico. She, uh, gave me a few life truths, sort of helped me clear my head. Who knows?” He whispers now. “Maybe we can still have a chance to get out of here together.”  


He puts his arm behind you and pulls you close. After settling your head on his chest, you say, “I hope so, Arthur.” You both remain this way until Charles comes up to relieve you of guard duty. 

In the morning, you and Arthur walk together towards Pearson’s fire to get coffee. Arthur’s been very quiet this morning, responding little to your words. It’s easy to tell something heavy is on his mind.  


As you’re drinking, you look over to the main path and spot Sadie in the trees. She seems to be throwing something and her brow is furrowed. You nudge Arthur and walk towards her. Once you’re closer to her, she throws a knife at a tree and you hear the dull thud of it’s strike.  


“Sadie,” you say.  


She looks over briefly to spot you and Arthur and then throws another knife. “You two okay?”  


“Just peachy,” Arthur says.  


“You still workin’?”  


“Is anybody still working?” Arthur puts one hand on his gunbelt. “Whole goddamn place full of people bickerin’, fightin’, lyin’. It makes me real sad.”  


You nod slowly. You’d both been woken up earlier than you’d like by a particularly loud argument between John and Javier. Not only that, but you’d also heard Tilly and Mary-Beth exchange harsh words. If Mary-Beth was getting nasty for no reason, things were definitely bad.  


“I know,” Sadie says, pulling the knives from the tree. She pauses and then looks pointedly at you both. “I need someone to ride with me.”  


“What for?” you ask.  


“Finish off them O’Driscolls. I hear the last of ‘em is holed up at Hanging Dog Ranch.”  


Arthur takes a few steps towards her and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t have it in me no more. I saw Colm swing, I just don’t care.”  


This takes you by surprise. Before this whole mess, Arthur would have been enthusiastic about putting down more O’Driscolls. Reverend’s words about you calming him come back to you. You don’t entirely blame him for not caring about that horrible gang anymore. After you saw Colm die, you’ve been less angry about the ordeal where Arthur was kidnapped and you were nearly murdered by his men.  


Sadie gives him a sharp look. “I was a married woman, Arthur. You know what they did to me. And to my husband…” She stops and turns away, rubbing her chin as though she’s about to break. You feel sorry for her. You knew from the first night you met Sadie that her husband Jake must have been a good man. She turns back and looks at you both. “You two are the only ones of these fools that I trust. I’ve gotta do this.”  


You bite your lip. Although you no longer have a fight with the O’Driscolls, you understand why Sadie does. Colm was never in her cabin that night, only his boys were. It’s unlikely he gave them orders to destroy Sadie’s life, though he surely would have encouraged it. Your revenge, Arthur’s revenge, is over, but Sadie’s isn’t. You decide whether Arthur wants to or not, you’re going to help her.  


Before you have a chance to say anything, Arthur walks slowly up to her. “I tell you what. I’ll do it, but there’s something you can help me and Y/N with. Abigail. Jack. John. Help us make sure they make it.” He looks to the camp. “I mean this whole thing is pretty much done. Help them escape.”  


He looks at the camp again and a strange sadness enters his eyes. He glances at you and then to her. “You know us three, we’re more ghosts than people. We been broken for too long to be anything else, but them? They could still…”  


“I know,” Sadie says. She looks at him. “Of course I will. Thank you, Arthur.”  


“I’m coming too,” you say. They look at you. “My fight with the O’Driscolls is dead, but you’ve told me what they did to you and your husband. If my last husband had been half as good as your Jake and they did the same thing to him, I’d want them all dead too.”  


She nods solemnly and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Alright. Well, I’m riding out now if you both wanna come, or I can meet you there.”  


Arthur whistles for Artemis and you do the same. Sadie thanks you both again and heads over to her horse.  


As you’re both riding towards Big Valley, you ask Arthur to hang back a little ways to talk with him privately.  


“What was that about, Arthur?”  


“What?” he says heavily. He’s been in a strange mood all day.  


“That whole ‘we’re more ghosts than people. We been broken too long to be much else’.”  


He sighs and doesn’t answer immediately. “Look at us, Y/N. I been part of this gang more than twenty years, now it’s all goin’ up in smoke by Dutch’s hand. Everything I ever believed in, everything he taught me, feels like it was all one big lie. Not only that, but this world don’t want folk like us no more. It’s why we been hunted so long. So even if you and I get out together the way we been talkin’, where the hell are we gonna go where they won’t find us?”  


You pause at his words. “I thought we could figure that out after we deal with this. One mess at a time, Arthur.”  


“I know, but still. We’re starin’ into a void with no answers and we don’t even know if we’re gonna make it. I overheard Dutch. He knows Trelawney and Reverend left and he was sayin’ they’ll be the last.”  


“Then how about this, Arthur,” you say, trying to calm him. “I know you wanna help John and his family escape, I do too, but if they refuse to leave then we need to figure things out for ourselves. Let’s set a date for it all to happen, for them to have escaped by then or for us to leave. No more waiting to see how things turn out.”  


“And exactly how long do you propose?” His voice is heavy.  


“A month,” you say. “No more than that.”  


“Okay.” You look back at him and his eyes are dull. You want nothing more than to hug him.  


“Honey, I know it’s a… a frightening thing to leave Dutch. He’s been your family for most of your life. But I’m starting to wonder if this thing of his is a suicide mission, way he’s going. I don’t know about you, but… Look, I ain’t had a whole lot in my life worth living for. If it weren’t for you, I’d either already be gone or worse, I’d be willing to go down with Dutch. You’re the only thing keepin’ my head straight, Arthur, and I’ve been hoping you’d want me to be your family now.”  


“I do, darlin’, and I want us to get out. You deserve the chance for a better life, hell you ain’t had much of one before. That’s what I mean when I said we’re more ghosts than people.”  


You sigh and nod. “I know, Arthur. But we’re gonna get out of this. Okay? I ain’t sayin’ it’s gonna be easy, and I ain’t sayin’ we’re gonna have an easy time forgetting this when it’s done, but we have to at least give ourselves a chance. We owe it to each other.”  


He nods and pushes Artemis to run next to Sadie’s horse, signalling he’s done talking.


	29. Unfinished Business

Warnings: swearing, blood, angst  


Word count: ~6800

The morning finds you, Sadie and Arthur camped out in Big Valley. Arthur has been relatively quiet since your discussion, not that you blame him. The end seems to be coming sooner than you thought, and the prospects of the future frightens you.  


You get up just as the sun is rising over the mountains. The other two are still asleep. You take the opportunity to wander into the large meadow on foot, feeling at peace finally. Something about this valley, the forest and the meadow seems so pure and holy. You used to go to church as a child with your parents, but the thing everyone else claimed they felt inside of it never came to you. That feeling of peace and of having found your place in the world comes here, though. You wonder if maybe when Arthur finally decides it’s time to leave the gang and Dutch, he’d be willing to live here. Perhaps you and him could build a small cabin. Strawberry’s close by, which is ideal for when you need to visit a shop or a post office.  


You sit down in the meadow near the thin winding river and study the scenery. A herd of pronghorns and a white tail buck graze nearby without any fear of you. In the distance, you spot three elk and even a herd of wild horses. If Heaven is real, it must look something like this. You pull out your journal and begin to sketch the view, finally feeling happy with the strokes of your pencil.  


Nearly an hour passes and Sadie wanders towards you. “Hey, what you doin’?” she asks.  


“Just enjoying the view.” You close your journal and stand up.  


“Come on. Arthur ain’t up yet, but you and I can go scope the place. Try and get a count of how many of those bastards are there.”  


You nod and follow Sadie over to Hanging Dog Ranch. It’s a relatively short walk and you both hide behind a boulder and look through your binoculars. Sadie counts over a dozen men, but you point out there could be more in the house and the barn. Plus there are tents set up and it’s possible that there might be more sleeping in them.  


Sadie suddenly gasps. “That bastard is here.”  


“Who?” you ask quietly.  


She points out a fat man with a bushy brown beard walking around near the barn. He pulls out a cigarette and begins chatting with another man.  


“He’s the feller who shot Jake. He left before Arthur and Dutch showed up, but I told him he’d see me again.”  


“He’s yours then, Sadie. Now come on, let’s go get Arthur.”  


Sadie growls and lowers her binoculars, grinding her teeth. You both head back to Arthur, who’s just stirring awake. He sits up and rubs his eyes. Sadie picks up her rifle and slings it over her shoulder.  


“Fine mornin’ for a killin’,” she says to him.  


He nods and stands up, picking up his own rifle. “You two seen anything down there?”  


“Yeah, there’s a bunch of them,” you say.  


“One of them,” Sadie snarls. “Fat feller with a beard. He’s mine.”  


“Okay,” Arthur says and gestures for you both to walk with him. As you do, Sadie and you fill him in on what the ranch is like.  


“I’ll take the lead once we get there,” Sadie says as you walk out of the cover of the trees.  


“So no real plan then?” Arthur points out.  


“Oh I got a plan. Now come on, get in cover.”  


You and Arthur hide behind a large boulder near the perimeter fence while Sadie continues walking. She goes up to the front of the ranch where two O’Driscolls stand, keeping guard. They spot her and one says, “Hey. I think I know her! She’s one of Dutch’s-”  


He’s suddenly cut off by Sadie’s bullet plunging into his skull. The other one falls as she shoots. You and Arthur stand up and aim, firing upon more of the men. Sadie begins screaming like a wild cat and runs into the ranch amidst the returning gun fire.  


“Damn it, Sadie!” Arthur growls and he runs out from behind the rock. You follow him and together, you run into the ranch after Sadie and continue shooting. The loft doors of the barn slam open and a man with a gatling gun opens fire, sending you and the others diving behind stacked crates. Sadie takes cover behind an outhouse.  


“Take him out, Arthur!” Sadie yells.  


“I can’t get a good shot at him!” he yells back, reloading his gun. You peak around your crates and you can get a shot at him, but he’s directed the gunfire at you and Arthur.  


“Arthur!” you yell over the thundering shots. “Can you direct his fire? I can get him, but it’s too much where he’s at!”  


“Fine!” he hollers back. He takes a breath and then darts over to where Sadie’s at, successfully taking the man’s fire with him. You dart out quickly, aim and breathe out. Pulling the trigger, the gatling gun fire suddenly stops as your bullet strikes him in the neck.  


The O’Driscolls begin hollering in anger as Sadie and Arthur leave their cover and the three of you advance on them. After a few more moments, the shooting stops.  


Sadie lowers her gun. “There’s more in the buildings. You two take the barn, I’ll take the house.” She doesn’t wait for a response and runs to the house, kicking the door in as you and Arthur head to the barn. You see a wagon sitting near the barn with crates in it, creating a perfect platform to get to the upper floor of the barn without going inside of it. You do so as Arthur smashes through the front doors, firing on more of the men. You take cover outside of one of the windows and then aim inside, taking out two men. Another man yells in anger and aims his gun down at Arthur. Before he has the chance to fire, you take him out. All is quiet at last.  


“You okay up there?” Arthur yells.  


You climb in the window and look down at him, waving to signify that you’re fine though a bit out of breath.  


“Good. I’ll help Sadie, you loot these bastards, see what you can find.”  


You nod and take the chance to catch your breath as Arthur heads over to the house. As you’re looting the men you shot, you hear Sadie’s shriek and then silence. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was being murdered, but you know she must have found her quarry.  


A few moments go by and you’re about to go into the house when the door opens. Out walks Arthur and Sadie, who’s covered in blood. Her eyes are watery and she sniffs loudly. Arthur whistles for his horse.  


“I think I need to be alone for a bit,” Sadie says as you walk up to them.  


“I understand,” Arthur replies. He looks at her and then gestures to her clothes. “You, um, might wanna get cleaned up.”  


She smiles a bit and then thanks him and you before hopping onto her horse and galloping away. Arthur puts a hand on your shoulder as you both walk over to your horses.  


“You okay?” he asks.  


“Of course. Sadie?”  


“Ah, she found that bastard she mentioned. Anyways, we probably need to head back.”  


He hops onto Artemis and looks at you as though waiting for you to argue with him about returning to Beaver Hollow. Instead, you sigh and hop onto Rannoch.  


“Can we just walk there?” you ask. “I know the station ain’t far, but… this place is so pretty, Arthur.”  


“Fine,” he says. He’s still been acting strange, even cold and distant.  


The two of you run the horses in relative silence. The forest changes from the thick, close pines to clusters of aspens. Just as you’re approaching the army fort, you hear someone calling.  


“Help me!” the voice calls. “And I shall help thee.”  


You pull Rannoch to a stop and look around for who the voice belongs to. You see a figure near the road leading to the fort, slightly hunched and using a walking stick. You call Arthur’s attention to the figure and trot Rannoch up to the person.  


The figure turns out to be an old man, a wild gray beard hides most of his face. He doesn’t seem to see you or Arthur as you approach, but he must hear you. He calls out, “Penny for the blind.” He shakes a tin cup.  


You dismount with Arthur and approach him, neither of you saying a word. The man must know you’re close to him as he stretches out the arm holding the cup. “Help a blind man,” he asks, his white eyes blinking.  


You and Arthur pull out a coin and drop it into his tin. He rattles the cup and then pauses. Although he cannot see, he faces Arthur.  


“Be warned, sir, be warned. Surrounded by fields of burning fire and flesh, the devil shall make his sacrifice.”  


“Uh, okay. Thanks, I guess,” Arthur says.  


The old man shakes the tin again, listening for the clinking of your coin with Arthur’s. His head, which shakes slightly, turns to face you.  


“When the golden stag lifts his head, that is when you must go backwards rather than forward.”  


“Um, okay. Appreciate it.”  


You both stand in front of him, waiting to see if the blind man will say anything else.  


“Please, I need to be alone with my thoughts,” he says. “They say old blind man Cassidy is crazy, but I see what others do not.”  


Arthur shrugs his shoulders and returns to Artemis, hopping onto her and continuing on. You do the same.  


“Hey,” he calls back to you. “You mind if we run up to Charlotte’s? I, uh, wanted to check on her. Make sure she’s doin’ alright.”  


“Of course. And what about Hamish?” you ask.  


“Oh, he’s fine, I’m sure. We’ll go huntin’ with him soon but we need to check in with camp again before we do that. Dutch mentioned somethin’ to do with the army and Eagle Flies. I’m worried he’s gonna try somethin’ real stupid.”  


You sigh and agree. You’re beginning to get tired of Dutch and his warped plans, using the complicated struggle between the Indians and the army as a means to his ends. Arthur is getting tired of them too, but he still seems to want to stick around, try to help Dutch clear his head. Whenever you mention the possibility of you both leaving, Arthur brings up John. While you agree that John and his family need the chance to escape, John doesn’t seem interested in taking it. You wonder how long Arthur will wait for him before he decides he’s done. Although he agreed that if, by a month, he’d leave with you, he didn’t seem taken by the idea. Part of you wonders if he truly wants to leave, even though he says he does.  


Arthur still says little as you both head up north towards Willard’s Rest, passing by a loft on a cliff which overlooks the sweeping expanse of New Hanover and Lemoyne. The trees return as you head down the mountain and rejoin the railroad tracks which will lead you right to Charlotte’s home.  


The falls come into view and Arthur diverts Artemis off the train tracks and up the rise. He slows down just before reaching the cabin. As you do the same, you hear a gunshot and trot Rannoch up the path. Once the cabin is in view, you see Charlotte with her back to you, aiming a rifle at bottles she’s placed on a crate. She shoots again, but none of the bottles break.  


“Darn it!” she calls out, lowering her rifle. You and Arthur walk up to her and she smiles when she sees you.  


“How you feelin’, ma’am?” Arthur asks.  


“Much better than I’ve felt in a long time. If we hadn’t caught that rabbit, I don’t think I’d have made it another day.”  


“Well, you sure look better,” Arthur says, smiling. You nod. Now that you can see her face properly, she has more color and her face is clean, her eyes brighter.  


“Better and determined, thanks to you two.” She pats the rifle in her hands. “If I’m going to to hunt, I figured it was time I learn how to use this.” She aims the rifle again.  


“How’s that going?” you ask, watching with a smile.  


“Well, let’s just say my prey is looking rather unscathed.” She takes in a deep breath and shoots, the bullet going nowhere near her target. “But the end of labor is to gain leisure, isn’t that what Aristotle said?” She places the butt of the rifle on the ground, the barrel pointing up past her.  


Arthur grabs the barrel and points it away so she doesn’t accidentally shoot herself. “Well, I don’t know much about Aristotle, but I do know guns. Come on, I’ll show ya.”  


You smile as he shows Charlotte how to stand and properly hold the rifle. It reminds you of when he taught you how to do the same all those months ago.  


“Hold steady,” he says softly, “breathe slowly and always pull the trigger on empty lungs. I’ll show you.”  


He pulls out his pistol and aims it, shooting at one of the smaller bottles on the crate.  


“You make it look so easy,” she says.  


“It is,” you say, pulling out your revolver. You point at another bottle and shoot it, the glass shattering. “You try now. Remember to breathe.”  


Charlotte clears her throat and aims the rifle again. “Wait to breathe out,” she says to herself over and over. After a few seconds, she fires again, the bullet striking the corner of the barrel.  


“Would you look at that?” she says happily. “I haven’t hit one that close all day!”  


“Not bad,” Arthur says. “Focus on the inhale, shoot on the exhale. My turn.”  


Just as Arthur is about to shoot, something scurries out from behind the shed.  


“Oh no, that wretched rat is back,” Charlotte says. “It’s been a thorn in my side since we moved here.”  


Without hesitation, Arthur pulls the hammer of his gun down and shoots the rat. With a sly smile, he looks over at Charlotte.  


“Show off,” she says, a light blush on her cheeks.  


Arthur chuckles and shoots a bottle. “Alright, Y/N’s turn.”  


You clear your throat and shoot another bottle. Something about Arthur’s behavior is beginning to make you feel unsettled. He’s been distant with you the past two days, and now here he is being friendly with Charlotte. Helping people isn’t unusual for him, but something about their interactions seems different. You hope Charlotte isn’t growing something for him.  


Charlotte nods in approval of your shot and then aims again. She hesitates once more and then pulls the trigger. A bottle explodes.  


“I hit it! Did you see that? I hit it!”  


Arthur chuckles and smiles at her. “That you did. You’re already gettin’ better.”  


“What can I say? Thank you.” She pauses for a moment. “Listen, I still have some of the rabbit left. I’ve salted it up. Would you both join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”  


You and Arthur thank her and follow her inside her cabin. The majority of it is a long, single room for the kitchen and dining, but two rooms lead off to the right side, their doors shut. Charlotte sets the rifle down behind the door and heads over to her stove where a pot of stew is boiling. She gestures for you and Arthur to take a seat.  


You and Arthur do so and Charlotte brings the pot over to the table. “Well, it’s hot at least.” She grabs some bowls and spoons some stew into one, handing it to Arthur. “Bon appetit.”  


“Huh?” he says.  


She smiles at him. “Please enjoy.”  


He smiles back at her and dips his spoon into it as Charlotte hands you a bowl as well. You thank her and taste it. It’s surprisingly good, better than Pearson’s anyways.  


Charlotte sits down opposite you and begins filling up her bowl. “I really am grateful to both of you. You’ve already helped me so much.”  


“It was nothing,” you say.  


She smiles at the pair of you. “You’re good people.”  


“Awe, I wouldn’t say that. Least not about me,” Arthur says.  


“I know enough. There’s always more to find in ourselves. You helped me to see that. My husband Cal was such an optimist I found it to be very contagious. But if I’ve learned anything out here, it’s that there’s a fine line between optimism and naivety.”  


She starts telling the story of how she and Cal had lived in Chicago. It’s very different from your life in Blackwater. While you had been able to enjoy the perks of civilization in Blackwater, it was nothing to compare to Charlotte’s life. Your father had enough money to keep you and your mother comfortably living, but Charlotte and Cal must have come from wealthy families.  


“It turned out to be very crushing,” she continues. “My father could be overbearing. Then we came out here and I got crushed by this. When Cal first came up with this idea, I pictured myself picking vegetables from a garden, sipping homemade wine, writing a great novel. Instead I turned out to be a far more pathetic anti-heroine than I ever imagined.”  


Arthur smiles at her. “I reckon you’ll do just fine, ma’am. I think you’ll find you have more strength than you realize.”  


She smiles at him and then catches herself. “But listen to me. Throwing my worries and burdens on you fine people. I barely know anything about either of you except you’re familiar with guns and hunting.”  


“There ain’t much to tell, to be honest,” Arthur says. It’s clear he doesn’t want Charlotte to know too much about the gang, nor do you simply as part of the code. He does tell her about his mother and father, the same story he told you. When he gets to how he was on his own until Dutch and Hosea found him, he makes it sound as though they lived fairly normal lives and depended on nature to survive.  


Charlotte listens politely as he tells his story. “Well, they must be good men to have taken you in the way they did, this Dutch and Hosea.”  


“They are, or were. Unfortunately Hosea passed away not long ago and Dutch, well. He’s changed since then. Been more rash and impulsive.”  


Charlotte sighs. “Must be hard for him. Sounds like he and Hosea built quite a family and lifestyle together. Grief does strange things to people, and no one deals with it the same way. I myself have done things I never would since Cal died. There’s been times when I’ve become overwhelmed with anger and just want to… hurt someone or something so they can feel even a bit of my own pain. Perhaps that’s what is happening with Dutch.”  


“I don’t know. He’s always been the more impulsive of the two, but it’s like now that Hosea’s no longer there to be the voice of reason, Dutch just goes around destroying everything in his path.”  


Charlotte stands up and takes your empty bowls. “Well, he’s lucky to have you there for him at least. Maybe while he’s processing this situation, you can try and help steer him.”  


“Oh I been tryin’. Things are… just goin’ from bad to worse.”  


“How so?”  


“Awe, it… it’s complicated.” Arthur looks at you and pats your knee. “Charlotte, thank you for the meal, we really appreciate, but we need to get back.”  


“Of course,” she says, clasping her hands. “I understand, and thank you both again for all your help. I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m going to try hunting today.”  


“Good,” you say, standing up. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”  


She smiles at you again. “Listen, if either of you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Anything I can do to repay you for your kindness.”  


You both thank her once more and head back to Beaver Hollow. Once again, Arthur’s uncharacteristically quiet. It’s almost the way he was when he first asked you to marry him, he has that same distance about him. You think back to what was last said before he starting being this way, and you recall your discussion about setting a date to leave the gang if things haven’t progressed or if John hasn’t left on his own.  


You both arrive back at Beaver Hollow and Dutch walks over to Arthur, his arms spread. “There you are, Arthur. Listen, I need you to come with me. We are going to help our friend Eagle Flies give the army a final tweak on its nose.”  


Arthur hitches Artemis up and looks hard at Dutch. “You really think that’s a smart idea, Dutch? We’re already in the army’s bad books, you think this is going to help us or the Indians?”  


Dutch puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “This is the right choice, Arthur. We need noise, and a lot of it to get those Pinkertons off our backs.”  


“I thought that was the whole reason behind blowin’ up the bridge?”  


“Yes, it was, but it didn’t create enough. Now come on.”  


Dutch hops onto the Count and looks at Arthur expectantly. Arthur sighs heavily and gets back onto Artemis.  


“You want me to come along?” you ask, hoping that perhaps you and Arthur can talk Dutch out of doing something stupid.  


“No,” Dutch says. “The fewer of us involved, the better.”  


Without another word, he kicks his horse into a gallop and Arthur doesn’t even have the chance to say anything to you. You watch them until they disappear beyond the horizon. As you’re turning to head to your tent, you suddenly bump into Javier.  


“Shit!” you say, jumping a little. “You scared me.”  


“Y/N,” he says without any other greeting. “I need your help with something. Heard of a stagecoach coming up to Annesburg. Big mailing stage going through Van Horn. Arthur says you did a good job a couple months back on one just like it.”  


“Oh, okay.” You’re taken aback by this. Javier has never done a job with you nor asked for your help with one. It’s even more curious that he’s doing so now with how hostile he’s been with everyone in camp. He seems to sense your hesitation.  


“It could have a lot of cash, Y/N. The more we get, the sooner we can all get out of here. We all need to help Dutch in order to help ourselves. Now let’s go.”  


You sigh and begin following him when Micah calls him back. “Javier, I need you for something. Dutch mentioned you might have some knowledge on this train we’re thinking might be coming through.”  


“Can it wait?” he asks. “Y/N and I are going out on a job.”  


“She can do it by herself, can’t she?” he demands, waving a hand in your direction. Javier looks at you and then to Micah. It’s clear he doesn’t want to abandon the job. You pat his shoulder reassuringly.  


“It’s okay, Javier, I can manage this one on my own. The drivers for this mailing company ain’t that tough. I’ll even save some of the cut for you.”  


He pauses a moment and then nods. “Thanks, Y/N.”  


Micah doesn’t look at you as he heads back to Dutch’s tent with Javier. You’re glad for this job as it allows you to get away from this place again. You feel a little bad, you and Arthur haven’t brought any kind of meat back in a few days and Pearson’s stew is probably fairly sparse at this point. You make a note to hunt after the stage.  


Rannoch gallops down the path as you ride east and south in the direction of Van Horn. Your mind is elsewhere as he runs. It’s too late when you realize that things have gotten too quiet on the trail.  


Just as you’re becoming nervous, a shot rings out through the trees in your direction. The bullet doesn’t hit you or Rannoch but it’s enough to make him stop and rear up, tossing you onto your back. He gallops off as two men come out from the trees.  


You gather yourself and stand up, whipping out your guns. At first you think they’re Murfrees as this is still their territory and they’ve continued robbing people despite Dutch stealing their stronghold. However, you notice their clothes are only dirty, but not torn, old and rugged. The men also lack the wild glint in their eyes that Murfrees have. You wonder if they’re just desperate travelers robbing anyone coming down this way.  


“Get her!” one of them yells. He has a flabby, long face with dull eyes and moppy brown hair. The other is a gangly blonde with red cheeks. He laughs loudly and points his gun at you. Before he has a chance to pull the trigger, you shoot your sawed-off at him and he drops to the ground, blood flowing from his chest where you shot him. The other man looks at you with his dull eyes.  


“Let’s drop this,” he says in a slow voice. He throws his gun down and pulls out his knife. “Let’s see who’s the fastest and strongest.”  


“You’re not trying to rob me?” you demand, suspicious.  


He smiles, showing crooked teeth. “Ain’t never wanted to rob you, lady. Just doing my job.”  


Before you have the chance to ask further, he lunges at you. You dodge out of the way and begin lifting your gun to shoot him, having no care to fight on his terms. He slams into you, his large body knocking you on the ground and your guns flying from your hands. He lifts his leg to stomp on you but you roll out of the way, crawling towards your gun. He swiftly kicks you in the ribs and then picks you up, throwing you to the other side of the trail.  


A second passes and you’re on your feet again, spitting your hair from your mouth. Your ribs hurt where he kicked you, but you don’t acknowledge the pain. You pull out your knife and wait for him. He lunges once more and you dodge, but he trips you. As you’re falling, his blade swipes, the tip catching at your left cheek and gliding across your eye and up to your forehead. The knife misses your eye luckily and you clutch your face, pull your hand away to see it covered in a thick line of blood. The man chuckles and you get up to your feet again, determined despite the blood that’s dripping into your eye.  


“Got you good, looks like,” he smiles when he sees the slash across your face.  


“It’s nothing compared to what I’m gonna do to you!” You square your shoulders.  


He adjusts his grip on the knife, clearly expecting you to come at him. Instead, you dive to the other side of the path, grabbing the sawed-off. You roll onto your back, aiming it. His eyes widen and he runs into the trees as you shoot, your aim off due to the blood in your eye. You blink several times and shoot more, but he’s long gone.  


The sounds of his footsteps fade, alerting you to the fact that he’s not coming back. You clench your teeth and put a hand over the left side of your face. You’re glad camp isn’t too far away as you get up and whistle for Rannoch. A few seconds pass and he comes back, neighing. After holstering your guns and knife, you pat his neck and climb onto his back.  


“Take me home, boy,” you say, grabbing his reins in your free hand and guiding him back.  


As you trot down the trail leading directly into Beaver Hollow, Charles sees you.  


“What happened?” he hollers, grabbing Rannoch’s bridle to better guide him into camp.  


“Ambush. Guy caught me with his knife.”  


Charles hitches Rannoch and then helps you climb off, guiding you with a hand around your shoulder to where Grimshaw’s standing. He calls her attention, stating you’ll need stitches.  


“Again, girl?” she squawks. “I swear, you have the worst luck.”  


She marches to your tent and beckons you to lay down on your cot. You do so and Charles hands you a cloth to soak up the blood. You’re beginning to feel a bit light-headed, a result of losing so much. Grimshaw stomps back holding a bottle of whiskey and Strauss’s medical kit, which got left behind.  


She works quickly, sewing your face back together, dabbing whiskey on the cut. As she does, you tell her what happened to try and ignore the pain.  


“He didn’t say why he was tryin’ to kill you?”  


“No,” you say. “Just said he was on a job.”  


Grimshaw grunts in confusion. Charles has stayed close to make sure she doesn’t need anything else. After a while, she finishes and tells you to get up. Just as you’re sitting up, Grimshaw’s hand on your shoulder, Micah saunters by.  


“Get yourself into a spot of trouble again, hmm?” he sneers. “I’m guessing that stage job didn’t get done either. Real way to pull your weight.”  


Without thinking, you launch to your feet and rush at him, determined to punch any part of him you can reach. Grimshaw stops you and Charles gets in the way. He tells Micah to leave before you completely lose control. Micah just glares at you and walks away.  


“You need to calm down,” Grimshaw demands. “Otherwise you’re gonna bleed more. Now you sit down and I’ll grab you something to eat.”  


You do as she says, trying to slow your breathing. She comes back after a few moments with a bowl of Pearson’s stew. She then tells you to take it easy for the night. You’d think she was being kind, but you know Grimshaw too well. She doesn’t want you to cause your cut to begin bleeding again and make you pass out. The pain has come in full by this point and it’s almost overwhelming. Your ribs ache as well from where the man kicked you. You grab the bottle of whiskey Grimshaw was using and start drinking.  


By nightfall, you’ve drunk so much your face no longer hurts but you can’t feel much else either. You sit around the campfire, waiting for Arthur to return. The staring from everyone in camp has resulted in you draping your hair over the left side of your face and using the tip of your hat to hide your eyes the way Arthur does.  


Dutch saunters into camp, but Arthur is nowhere in sight. He tells you he’s fine, just off hunting and he should be back soon. You’re barely able to understand what he’s saying as you’ve become so drunk. Dutch must be able to tell, he tells you to get to bed. You do so with little argument, stumbling all the way.  


The next morning you wake just as the sun is rising. Your head pounds fiercely from the alcohol and your face feels like it’s on fire. Your ribs are sore, adding to the pain. You lie in the cot, wishing you could die where you lay. You flop your hand to Arthur’s side, only to find it empty. Just as you open your eyes to see if he’s in the tent at all, your stomach heaves. You leap to your feet and dash to the river, emptying your stomach of what little is left.  


After a few moments, you splash cold water from the river onto your face, making your cut sting. It does little to cure your headache but at least you can think a bit more clearly. Getting back up the hill is an enormous effort, but you do and head over to Pearson’s fire to get yourself some coffee.  


As your sipping your coffee, trying to ignore the pain, Mary-Beth walks up holding a small bowl. She holds it out to you.  


“Here, I, um, I made some of that concoction Hosea made you when your leg was bad.”  


You look in the bowl and see the familiar paste with bits of the crushes plants mixed in it. You take it from her, thanking her. You swallow it quickly, although it tastes awful, and chase it down with coffee.  


By late morning, your headache is dull enough you can pick up chores again. Grimshaw flatly expresses she doesn’t want you going anywhere the next few days, stating you’ve had enough adventures for a while.  


While you work, you think about how horrible things have become in the gang. So many people have died or left, it seems like hardly anyone is left. You observed Tilly and Karen having a heated argument that the entire gang heard as Tilly pleaded with her to stop drinking. The fight ended when Karen nearly struck Tilly but walked away at the last second.  


Your own adventure from yesterday that resulted in your face getting cut open only adds to your worry. You haven’t been able to forget what that man said, how he was attacking you on someone’s orders. The question of who keeps circling in your head, providing no answers. You wonder if it would be best if you and Arthur left sooner than you agreed on. If things have gotten this bad in so little time, you don’t even want to think about how much worse they’ll be in a few weeks’ time.  


As you finish scrubbing a shirt, you hear a horse coming down the path. Looking up, you see Artemis with Arthur astride her. You wave to him and smile, although it quickly disappears because it hurts too much. Arthur half-heartedly returns it. You get up and walk over to him, your face still half covered.  


“Arthur, can we talk?” you ask as he’s hitching Artemis.  


“Sure,” he says. He heads over to your tent. You ask him how things went with Dutch yesterday and he sighs heavily. “Whole thing was a mess. Eagle Flies has been taken prisoner by the army. I’m gonna talk with Charles, see if we can break him out.”  


“And Dutch just let him?”  


“Dutch didn’t see. The army came at us hard, even had a goddamn cannon. Dutch and I got split off from the others and had to jump off a cliff into the river. Had no choice, we got cornered. Anyways, after we escaped, I went digging around to find out what happened to Eagle Flies.”  


You nod, biting your lip. “It’s getting worse, Arthur. Maybe… maybe after we get Eagle Flies out, we need to leave. You and me.”  


Arthur turns and looks at you, his brow furrowed. “What about everyone else? We just gonna leave them all behind to suffer?”  


“Arthur, we can’t help those who won’t help themselves. You taught me that. John has shown no desire to leave, to get Abigail and Jack out. I talked to her this morning, she says she won’t go anywhere without John. We need to think about-”  


“Don’t talk to me about gettin’ ourselves out, darlin’!” he snaps at you, taking you back. “I told you I was gonna get as many people out as I can, and that’s what I’m gonna do. If you wanna leave, then I ain’t gonna stop ya.”  


“Arthur, I’m not leaving without you. Where you go, I go, remember?”  


“Then I guess you’ll be staying here with me until things get figured out.” He begins turning away when a slight breeze blows through the tent, lifting your hair slightly as you stare at him incredulously. “What’s that?” he asks, straightening back up.  


“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, pulling your hair back over your face.  


He sighs and brushes the hair away from your face. “What the hell?”  


You pull away from his hand, realizing he must find the slash hideous. You push the hair back over your face.  


“What happened, sweetheart?”  


You tell him everything, including what the man said. “You see what I mean?” you finish. “Things are getting worse, Arthur. Someone is gunning for me and I don’t know who. Please, Arthur, let’s get out of here. Start our life somewhere else like we talked about.”  


He lowers his brow again. “And like I said, I ain’t goin’ nowhere until I can get as many people out as I can. They deserve it.”  


“Arthur, if they wanted to leave, they’d have done it by now.”  


“So we just forget about them, hmm? We just tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen, John and all them to figure it out themselves? All because you’re scared about who’s gunnin’ for ya? I’ll protect you, sweetheart, I always have.”  


“You ain’t always around, Arthur! Dutch has you runnin’ around so much, you can’t possibly do that.”  


“So then deal with it! Go find who this bastard is and put a bullet in him. You took down your goddamn family, this should be easy.”  


You can’t understand why Arthur is saying these things. You know he’s always been loyal to the gang, to Dutch. You thought he’d be willing to let it go if it meant having a new life with you.  


“Arthur, please. Please, let’s get out here. We’ve saved who we can, the rest need to take care of themselves. We keep going like this, we’re all going to die!”  


“Then go! If you’re going to be a coward, then get out of here!” His voice has risen considerably. You stare up at him.  


“I- I’m not a coward, Arthur. I’m just trying to be real.”  


He lifts his lip to you. “No, you’re just looking after yourself. That’s all you ever done. You don’t give a damn about none of these people. You just want me all to yourself, living in some cabin the rest of our lives like a goddamn fantasy.”  


“No, that-that’s not true. Just listen to me. I’m scared for everyone, Dutch is on a suicide mission and he’s taking all of us with him.”  


“You always blame everything on Dutch, don’t you? He’s workin’ on getting us out, that means all of us. He’s as sick of losing people as we are. But you… you just assume the worst of him. Once we all get out of here, he’ll get better.”  


“Arthur, if he hasn’t gotten any better he won’t ever! Stop lying to yourself!”  


He glares down at you and shakes his head a little. “I can’t believe you’d be so selfish,” he mutters. “After all these people have done for you, you’d just let them all die so you can live. You know what? Asking you to marry me was the worst mistake I ever made.”  


Your heart plummets into your stomach. He clears his throat, looking away. “Y/N, I didn’t mean-”  


“Save it, Arthur,” you growl. “Fine, I ain’t gonna stick around only to watch you die because of the rantings of a mad man, and I won’t hang around as a reminder of your mistakes.”  


You grab your satchel from the cot, ignoring his stammerings.  


“Y/N, I didn’t mean- Let me rephrase that.”  


You stomp across the clearing, trying to keep the tears from falling. You won’t give Arthur the satisfaction of seeing you cry. He follows you a few steps behind.  


“Y/N, stop! I didn’t mean that, I’m just tryin’ to-”  


“And I told you to save it, Arthur!” you holler, climbing onto Rannoch, painfully aware of the gang’s eyes on you. Arthur stands by Rannoch and grabs the reins.  


“Y/N, please let me explain things.”  


“You said your bit, Arthur, and no matter how much you try, you can’t take back what you said. But I’m glad to know what you truly think about me. Now leave me alone.”  


His brow furrows again. “Fine, then run off like you always do. That’s all you ever done when things go bad. That’s what you did when you killed your family and that’s what you did every time you and I argued. All you ever do is run away!”  


You bite your lip and look away, willing yourself not to cry. You look down and see his ring on your finger and your tempted to throw it at him. Instead, you look at him. “Good bye, Arthur.” You jerk Rannoch’s reins from his hand and gallop down the path, refusing to look at what you’re leaving behind.


	30. The Many Miles We've Walked

Warnings: mentions of severe depression, blood, swearing, angst  


Word count: ~8200

You gallop down the path away from Beaver Hollow, Arthur’s words still burning in your ears. The slash across your face stings as the tears come, sliding across the sensitive skin. You don’t stop; you can’t. All you know is that you’re on your own once again. The sky darkens with heavy clouds, matching your mood.  


After what seems like a lifetime, you finally stop Rannoch. You’re not sure where you are, but you recognize the landscape marking the Grizzlies East. Rannoch’s withers are sweating and he fumbles with the foamy bit in his mouth. You pat his neck and slide off his back, the full force of what just happened threatening to overwhelm you.  


You stand in the middle of the path and then stumble to the side, collapsing as the full weight of it all overtakes you. Pain rushes through your chest, clenching your gut and causing you to vomit for the second time today. Arthur’s words echo in your head again, bringing fresh tears. You sob and lay down in the dirt.  


A slur of emotions rushes through you: pain, betrayal, anger, fear and confusion. You’ve no idea how this happened. All you know is that the life you imagined with Arthur has been stripped from your hands and stomped into the mud.  


How can things have gone so wrong, you ask silently. While things have been bad in the gang for weeks, they haven’t been between you and Arthur. Now suddenly he’s no longer part of your life. The voice in your head, the one that speaks in your dead husband’s voice, hisses in your ear.  


“I told you,” it says. “No one could live with you and not end up hating you. He’s finally come to that realization.”  


You roll onto your side, trying to ignore the voice. You look down and see your revolver in its holster. For a second, you think about pulling it out and just ending it all. It would be easier, you’d no longer have to worry about what you’re going to do next, the gang or Arthur. You could finally have peace. You’re tempted to do it until you realize that by doing so, you’d be letting James win. He might be dead, but you’re still fighting him. You won’t give up so easily.  


An hour passes and you finally gather the strength to sit up. A part of you wonders if Arthur will come looking for you. You hope he doesn’t. He made it clear he had no interest in staying with you. You wonder where you should go next. You can’t go any further east and you refuse to go south and back into the swamps. You’ll go west, but not yet. The sky flashes, heralding a close storm.  


With a heavy sigh, you get up and climb back onto Rannoch. The sky seems to open and the storm begins. It starts off as a drizzle, but the darkness of the sky suggests it’s likely to get worse. You decide to go north for now and try to find somewhere to stay for the night. By the time you get to the tracks, it’s grown into a freezing deluge. Your hands shake and your teeth chatter.  


You follow the tracks east for a while, trying to think of where to go where you can keep warm. The sky flashes again and you see on your left the lab of Dover Hill. You’re close to Charlotte’s. You wonder if she’d be kind enough to let you stay with her for one night.  


Rannoch travels along the path alongside the tracks until you hit the wide river. Ignoring the fact that you’ve only been up here with Arthur, you guide him up to the cabin and stop when it comes into view. What are you going to say to her?  


You slide off Rannoch and walk up her porch, hesitating at her door. After what feels like hours, you finally knock. It opens.  


“Y/N, how good to see you.” She begins to smile until she sees the slash across your face and your red, puffy eyes. “Is something wrong?”  


“Yeah. I… Arthur and I, we… I…”  


“Come on in out of the rain, don’t want you freezing. I’ll make you some hot tea.”  


She grabs your shoulder and gently guides you inside. You try to thank her but a painful ball has taken residence in your throat. She tells you to sit at the table as she walks around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and putting them into a kettle on the stove. After setting the kettle to boil, she sits down opposite you.  


“I was hoping I’d see you and Arthur again. Of course, I never thought I’d see one without the other. Did something happen?”  


You nod stiffly as a fresh tear slides down your cheek, burning the cut again. “Arthur and I, we um, we ain’t together no more. Things got… real bad between us. He…” You think about what he said, your chest burning. “He said it was a mistake to want to marry me.”  


Charlotte puts a warm hand on your icy one, rubbing her thumb across your skin. “Do you mind me asking what happened?”  


You don’t look at her as you wonder where to begin. Despite knowing Arthur would be furious if he found out, you decide to tell Charlotte everything.

You finish telling Charlotte your story, which takes a relatively short amount of time despite everything that’s happened. She proved to be a wonderful listener.  


You sit at her table with your empty cup, the near empty kettle sitting at the end of the table. She sighs when you fall silent.  


“So you think Arthur won’t come looking for you?” she asks.  


“No,” you say, then take it back. “I don’t know. At this point, I don’t know if I want him to either. He knows Dutch is crazy, but for some reason he just won’t leave.”  


“It must be terrifying for him. He’s known nothing but this lifestyle for over twenty years and it’s fallen apart so suddenly. How could he not be?”  


You wipe your wet cheeks. “I know he is, but he was the one who said he wanted to leave. I just don’t understand why he changed his mind. Or when he figured out I’m no companion. It’s just a shame Mary wrote him saying it was officially over between them.”  


Charlotte squeezes your hand almost too hard. “Don’t put yourself down like that, Y/N. When I saw you two together, I could tell he loves you. Like I said, he’s just scared, and when people are scared and angry, they say crazy things.”  


You sniff. “Yeah, well they say people tell you the truth when they’re drunk or angry. I… I wish… I don’t know what I wish.”  


“Do you regret him asking you to marry him, or saying yes when he did?”  


“Yes… no… I don’t know. I love him but it’s not a mutual feeling. I think he’ll be happier now.”  


“No, he won’t be,” Charlotte says, standing up. She grabs the kettle and places it in the basin on the counter. “You don’t plan on marrying someone and then when it doesn’t work you just start being happier. Even when bad things have happened, those emotions run deep. Trust me when I say he’s just as miserable, scared and confused as you are.”  


“Maybe,” you say with a small hiccup. Charlotte asks if you’d like something to eat, but you say no. Although you’ve eaten little and most of it came right back up, the last thing you want to do is eat.  


“Well, you helped me in my most desperate hour. Least I can do is return the favor. You can stay here as long as you like. I managed to catch a turkey, so I have enough food for a day or two.”  


You thank her as she takes your empty cup, then she shows you to her spare room. You thank her again and explain you’d like to get some sleep. She nods then notices your clothes which are still damp and causing you to shiver.  


“Would you like to borrow some of my clothes? I don’t have much, but they’d be better and warmer than those.”  


You nod and she gets you a shirt and skirt. When you’ve changed, she takes your worn clothes to hang by the fireplace. Afterwards, you close the door and lay down in the bed, still shivering from the cold and from shock. The rain continues to pour outside. The sound helps you to doze off, but you never really fall asleep. 

A week has passed since you last saw Arthur, most of it stormy and dark. Charlotte is a kind and thoughtful host. She recognizes when you need to be alone and when you need company. She always invites you to go hunting with her, understanding when you say no. She does her best not to mention Arthur, and you’re grateful for it.  


This week has proved to be the most difficult of your life. When the rain calmed enough to allow you and Charlotte to go out hunting, you’d occasionally been struck by such a powerful wave of grief that you had to sit down and not move until it passed. Two days after you’d arrived, this had happened and you stayed seated at the foot of a large oak for so long Charlotte came looking for you, afraid a cougar or a wolf had gotten you.  


You sit now on the bed, your heart heavy and your mind reeling in circles once more. If Arthur hasn’t come looking for you at this point, he’s not ever going to. You’ve only stayed this long to see if he would bother to track you down, but the few times you have gone out of the cabin, you haven’t seen or heard anything about him or anyone else from the gang.  


You’ve decided it’s time to move on, to stop waiting for him to find you. After all, it’s not fair to take advantage of Charlotte’s kindness for much longer. You slide off the ring he gave you, twirling it between your fingers. Before everything fell apart, it helped to center yourself and focus; now it’s nothing more than a reminder of what could have been. You let the tears fall as you open the drawer of the nightstand and place the ring inside with a letter to Charlotte, explaining your gratitude and your hopes for her to have a better life. You also wrote that if someone came looking for you to pretend as though you’d never met. You’ve given a bit of thought about the ambush that resulted in your slashed face, still frightened of who might be behind it and if they’re still trying to kill you.  


You close the nightstand drawer and wipe your cheeks, grabbing your satchel to get ready and leave. Charlotte has been out in the main room of the cabin, cleaning her rifle to prepare for another hunt. The sun is finally out for the first time in days and she wants to take advantage of it. It will provide you with the perfect opportunity to slip away.  


Just as you’re putting your journal into your satchel, someone knocks on the front door and you hear Charlotte open it. Her voice rumbles through the walls but you can’t hear what she’s saying. You put on your boots and grab your hat. Suddenly, Charlotte knocks on your door. You invite her in.  


“I don’t mean to disturb you,” she says gently. “But there’s a caller outside for you.” You try to guess who it might be based on her face but fail to do so. With a heavy sigh, you follow her out to the main room. Instead of opening the front door, you peak out the window that looks out onto the porch. Your breath hitches in your throat as you see the familiar frame of Arthur, his back to the window and his hat in his hands. You begin shivering and turn around to look at Charlotte, your eyes wide. She takes your hat off and brushes the hair from your face.  


“I don’t think he knew you were here,” she says. “He came to check on me and your horse walked over to greet him. You should have seen his face when he saw Rannoch, it was like he’d seen the moon for the first time after too many dark nights.”  


You don’t know what to say or do. While part of you wants to go out and see him, the other part is scared of what he might say. Your fear must show because Charlotte rubs your uninjured cheek.  


“Listen, why don’t you go outside, give him thirty seconds. If by that point you still don’t feel good or decide you don’t want to talk to him, you come right back in and I’ll ask him to leave you alone, okay?”  


You swallow and nod stiffly, clasping your hands together. Charlotte puts your hat on the table and opens the door slowly as you push your hair to cover the slash across your face. Arthur turns at the sound, his face straight but his eyes soft. He clenches his jaw at the sight of you.  


“Hello, Y/N,” he says as you step onto the porch, the door closing behind you.  


“Arthur,” you say so quietly you can barely hear yourself.  


“I, um, I been lookin’ for you for a few days. Was worried about you.”  


You look down at your feet, crossing your arms over your chest. “Why would you be looking for me?”  


“You know why, dar- Y/N. I care about ya and I, uh, I said some bad things last time we spoke.”  


“You said what you truly thought, Arthur. My dad always said to listen to people when they’re angry, that’s when they’re the most honest.”  


“You’re really gonna believe somethin’ your awful daddy said?”  


You pause and continue staring at your feet, a tight ball forming in your chest again. “Why’d you come here, Arthur? Did you come to point out all my faults?”  


“No, that’s the last thing I wanna do. I tried trackin’ you the day you left but the rain washed everything away. I thought you headed out west. I came here to make sure Charlotte was alright, I had no idea you were here. ”  


“I was gonna go west, but I… I just didn’t for some reason.”  


Arthur pauses, fiddling with his hat. “I’d love it if you came back, sweetheart. I’ve missed ya and things have gotten real bad. Feels like I’m drownin’ without you next to me.”  


“Why would you want me to come back? All I am is a mistake.” You turn away, walking to the end of the porch, your eyes threatening to overflow. Arthur sighs behind you.  


“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know why I said that, think I was just frustrated and scared. It weren’t true, never was. I love ya and I can’t imagine my life without you. You’d make me very happy if you came back.”  


You turn to look at him mostly through your right eye as your hair still covers your left. His face softens and he raises his hand to touch your face, causing you to flinch and take a step back. He quickly lowers his hand, aware of the fact that you thought he might hurt you, a leftover reaction from your past marriage.  


“It’s okay, darlin’,” he whispers. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Just want to check your stitches.”  


He raises his hand slowly this time and you let him brush the hair behind your ear. He sighs again as he inspects the stitches, his thumb running across your forehead so gently you barely feel it. You unconsciously lean into his touch and he places his hand on your uninjured cheek.  


“I been tryin’ to look into who paid those men to hurt you. I ain’t found nothin’ yet but… Dutch hasn’t given me much chance to look.”  


“You’re still doing his bidding, Arthur?” you say as a tear slides down your cheek.  


“I… I was. But something bad happened.” He pauses and lowers his head. “Eagle Flies is dead.”  


He lowers his hand and fiddles with his hat. You silently repeat what he said. “What? How?”  


He explains how he and Charles got Eagle Flies out of prison and then two days ago, Eagle Flies came into camp with several others claiming the army tried to kill them for the oil on their land. Arthur goes into how almost the entire gang went to help Eagle Flies and then he and Dutch went into the foreman’s office and stole some bonds.  


“When we was leavin’, one of the pipe’s burst and knocked me down as some men came in. One of ‘em pinned me down and was about to stab me. Dutch saw and walked away. If it weren’t for Eagle Flies, I’d be dead now, but that bastard Favours shot him before I could do anything.”  


“Dutch just left you? Why?” Even though Dutch has completely changed since you met him, you never thought he’d abandon Arthur like that, especially under those circumstances.  


“Because you were right, darlin’,” Arthur says heavily. “Things ain’t gettin’ better and he ain’t helpin’. Ever since you left, I been a bit more loose-lipped about what I think of his ideas. He obviously don’t like it, been screamin’ more and more about everyone needin’ faith in his plan. Not only that, he’s been quick to point out how I should be better without ya. But thing is, I can’t stop thinkin’ that I’d already be dead or on the way out if it weren’t for you.”  


You look down again. “I’m not a hero, Arthur. I’ve never done anything to help anyone. I-I’m too selfish for that.”  


His fingers brush your chin, gently guiding your face back up to look at him. “You might not be a hero, but you saved my life in more ways than you know. I’d rather die right here and now than live another day without you. I don’t need no one else when you’re by my side.”  


He’s within inches of you now, his hand gently cradling your face. “I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he whispers. “I wish I could take it back, but that ain’t possible. If you give me a chance, I’ll do my best to prove to you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”  


His words wash over you, causing the ball in your chest to finally burst. You can’t stop your throat from clenching and tears cascading down your face. Arthur takes a half step closer, pulling you gently into his chest. You accept it, burying your head into his shirt as you try unsuccessfully to stop the sobs. You don’t know how long it continues, but Arthur doesn’t relent his tight grip on you, not even when you dig your fingernails into his back.  


As you begin to calm down, his scent floods your nostrils, bringing its own form of comfort. The sobs fade finally and Arthur begins combing your hair with his fingers.  


“You’re alright, girl,” he says gently, his voice deep, making you squeeze him tighter. His lips brush your forehead and you close your tired eyes.  


The door leading inside the cabin opens up and Charlotte comes out. “I, uh, I hope I’m not coming at a bad time, but I made lunch. Y/N here helped me catch a few fish yesterday and I cooked some up. I’d love it you joined me.”  


Arthur pulls away slightly to look at her, but you stay nuzzled against his chest. Arthur thanks her and then looks down at you. “How about it? Charlotte said you ain’t eaten much while you been here. Sounds like you didn’t do a whole lot to be honest.”  


You sigh and finally pull away. “Can you blame me, Arthur?”  


“No. To be honest, I been the same way.” He cups your cheek again and you press your hand against it. That’s when he notices your ring is gone. He clenches his jaw but says nothing about it.  


He guides you inside where Charlotte is setting down plates of seasoned fish and some herbs and roots you picked the day before. Arthur pulls a chair out for you and then takes a seat himself. Charlotte smiles at you from across the table.  


“Arthur, it was a real blessing you came up here today. I was really hoping I could see you again to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”  


“Ah, I didn’t really do much. You could have figured it out yourself. Like you said, we have more to find within ourselves than we think.”  


You see his hand lift as though he wants to put it on your knee, but then he lowers it.  


“Yes, I suppose so.” After a moment, she puts her fork and knife down and looks hard at Arthur.  


“I need you to tell me something, Arthur. Not just to ease my own curiosity but for Y/N’s sake as well. We know how loyal you are to Dutch, but it’s clear life with him and Y/N cannot continue the way it has. Tell me, what are you going to choose?”  


Arthur sighs and swallows his bite. He lowers his head a bit. “All them goddamn years I been loyal to Dutch don’t mean nothin’ anymore. He saw I was about to die and he walked away. He used the Indians for his own damn benefit and they paid the price. He… he said some pretty awful things about Y/N after she left, and I had to use all my self-control to not hurt him.”  


He finally looks at you. “I know why you wanted to leave last week, and it wasn’t because you didn’t care. I wish I had agreed with you then. But unfortunately I have to go back one last time. John mentioned Abigail knows where Dutch is keeping the chest and she might have the key. Darlin’, in order for us to start a life, we need money. John also says he wants to leave, but Dutch has gotten real suspicious of everyone. If I leave now, Dutch will hunt me down, and potentially you. I’m gonna leave as soon as I can, but it must be the right moment.”  


He pauses. “I… I guess I’m just hopin’ you’ll come with me, sweetheart. It would help me stay focused.”  


You swallow and look away. “You promise, Arthur? No more hopping between leaving and not leaving?”  


“No more, darlin’. I’ve made up my mind. Even if you… decide you don’t want to come back, I’m still leaving.”  


“I don’t know, Arthur,” you say quietly. “I just need some time to think about it.”  


He nods and looks away, clearly disappointed.  


Charlotte stands up and grabs the plates. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here until you decide, Y/N. Arthur, you can stay too if you like. The spare bed isn’t very large but it’s better than the floor I suppose.”  


Arthur thanks her and you lean back in your chair, closing your eyes. Charlotte calls your attention.  


“Why don’t you get some rest? You look worse than I did the day you both found me.”  


You nod and get up. Part of you wishes Arthur will accompany you, but the other part wants him to stay away, still hurt by the past week. He looks at you as though waiting for you to ask him to come. However, you know that you won’t get any sleep without him because you’ll be too busy thinking about what might happen.  


“Arthur?” you say quietly. “Um, will you…”  


He stands up before you finish and walks over to you. “You tell me what you want me to do, darlin’.”  


You nod and go into the room; Arthur shuts the door behind him. You sit down and take off your boots and he does the same.  


“You want me on the bed or on the chair in the corner?” he asks.  


“The bed is okay,” you say and lay down. He takes the blanket to cover you up and you grab his hand. “Be with me?”  


He pauses and runs a finger across your cheek then nods. He lies down next to you and you slide into the crook of his arm, pressing your head into his neck. His heartbeat quickens and you hear him swallow almost painfully as he drapes his arm over you.  


You lie awake for a few moments, although your eyes burn with exhaustion. You wait for him to say something but he doesn’t, his thumb just draws circles into your back. Your eyes finally droop and you thankfully fall asleep. 

You wake in the early afternoon to an empty bed. Looking around, you find Arthur’s not even in the room anymore. After putting your boots back on, you reach into the nightstand and pull out your ring and letter. You slide the ring into your satchel and throw the letter into the fireplace. Although you’ve decided by this point to go with Arthur, you’re not sure about your future together just yet.  


You head into the main room. It’s empty but after looking out the window, you see Charlotte standing near the shed with her back to the window. Arthur’s nowhere in sight. You head out to her and see she’s taking down the tanned deer hide she set out to dry days ago after you helped her kill it. She turns when she hears you approaching.  


“You look much better,” she says. You try to smile but find it difficult.  


“Arthur,” you say quietly. “Did he…” You can’t finish, afraid to hear the answer. You’re wondering if he thought you wouldn’t come back and he’s already left.  


“He’s just chopping some wood for me behind the house. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.”  


You nod, feeling somewhat relieved. “I know. I’ll go talk to him.”  


She puts her hand on your shoulder. “So what have you decided? He and I spoke for a while after you fell asleep. He’s, well, he’s heartbroken, Y/N. I think what happened to Dutch and not knowing what you’re planning has really turned his head.”  


You sigh heavily. “I’m going back with him. Despite everything we’ve just gone through, I still love him. But I don’t know what’s going to happen between us. I honestly wonder if staying with him is the best decision.”  


She drops the hide and takes your hands in hers. “I told him how you talked about James, your ex husband. He told me what he felt about that, how he tried so hard to be different and then how he hurt you. I could tell he hadn’t meant any of the things he said. You want to know what I think?”  


You nod, squeezing her hands.  


“I think if you walk away from him, you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your life.”  


The ball in your throat returns, threatening to choke you. “I… I know. I’m afraid though. We have to go back to Dutch and I don’t know what’s going to happen. What if we don’t make it? Or worse, what if I make it but Arthur doesn’t?”  


“He will, Y/N. He’s got you after all. I think as long as you’re there for each other, you’ll both be fine.” She smiles. “Now go on, go see him.”  


You let her hands go and walk behind the house. He’s standing near a large stump, chopping at some logs, his brow sweating heavily. You clutch your hands in front of you and start walking slowly towards him. He doesn’t see you as you walk over to him, so you call his name softly. He looks up, his lowered brow raising.  


“Hey, sweetheart. You feelin’ better?”  


You nod and he puts down the axe, rubs his hands off on his shirt and faces you. It’s clear he won’t make a move since he doesn’t know what your boundaries are, so you close the distance between you, sliding your arms around his waist. His breath hitches and he hesitates as you lay your head on his chest. Then his arms loop around you.  


“I love ya, you know that?” he says softly.  


You pull away and look at him. His eyes flicker to your lips as though he’d like to kiss you but is afraid you’ll pull away. He hides his eyes beneath his hat. Reaching up, you pull his hat off so he has to look at you.  


“And I love you, Arthur Morgan.” You look directly into his blue eyes.  


He smiles. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but you ain’t one of ‘em, darlin’. Never were. I was a damn fool for sayin’ those things. I just want ya to know-”  


You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. He sucks in his breath quickly, then you feel him smile. His arms tighten around you. Without warning, he lifts you up, making you laugh against his lips. You pull away, but he doesn’t put you down.  


“I’m gonna spend the rest of my life provin’ how amazin’ you are.” He sets you down gently but doesn’t let you go.  


"You don’t have to, Arthur.” You kiss him again. He sighs into it and you pull away. “Well, let’s go and say good-bye to Charlotte. Then we can go.”  


He nods and takes your hand in his as you both walk to the front. There, you both thank her for everything. She, of course, says it’s unnecessary since she believes she wouldn’t be alive without either of you. You offer her a pocketwatch you’ve had for ages as compensation, but she turns you down.  


“I have plenty of money in the city,” she explains. “If anything, I should be paying you for your assistance.”  


“Ma’am, you’ve done more than enough,” Arthur says with a smile.  


She smiles. “Well, if you insist on some sort of payment, then I have one to request.”  


“Anything,” you say.  


“I want to be there when you both get married, if it’s possible.”  


Arthur beams at her. “Charlotte, we’d be offended if you weren’t there.” She laughs and thanks you both again.  


Arthur, squeezing your hand, heads off to the horses. You wave good-bye to Charlotte and start heading out, but Arthur stops you.  


“Hey, I was, uh, thinkin’ about making a stop first,” he says, shifting in his saddle.  


“Where to?”  


“Wanted to go see Hamish. Be nice to go on a huntin’ trip with him before we face this mess. Might give you and I a chance to reconnect as well.”  


You smile and nod your head. You both head south and west into the Grizzlies East. O’Creagh’s Run comes into view, its water sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. You and Arthur hitch the horses outside by Buell, who grumbles a greeting to you.  


Arthur heads up the stairs and knocks on the door. A moment later, it opens and Hamish looks out.  


“I was wondering when I’d see you two again!” he says happily. He stands back and lets you in. Arthur gestures for you to go in first and you do.  


“You said we could go for a hunt?” Arthur says from behind you.  


“I did,” Hamish says, pouring a cup of coffee. “There’s this big she-wolf been stalking me last few nights I been out, but she can wait.” He offers you the cup and pours two more, handing one to Arthur. “Let’s talk a while.” He gestures to the table where unfortunately only two chairs sit. Hamish takes one, clearly needing to rest his wooden leg. Arthur pulls out the chair and offers it to you. Once you sit down, he stands just behind you, his hand on your shoulder.  


“So what do you two do?” Hamish asks, taking a drink. You reach up and squeeze Arthur’s hand as a way to let him know he can go first.  


“Well, I’m just a wanderer. I was born further north but spent a lot of time out west. Funny, I never saw myself as a wanderin’ man when I was a kid.”  


For the next little while, Arthur talks about how he was raised, his horrible father and then how his mother died. When he gets to how he met Hosea and Dutch, he hesitates, clearly debating on how much to tell Hamish. You squeeze his hand again. Arthur goes on with the truth, not even skipping the parts where he shot or robbed people. He finishes his story when Dutch left him to die in the oilfields.  


Hamish sighs at the end. “Tough life you’ve led, son. Now this Dutch feller, sounds to me like his true colors have finally shown now that this Hosea is gone.”  


“I don’t know,” Arthur says. “Maybe he was never who I thought he was. All I know is his spouting of loyalty was never meant to be reciprocated. He holds none for us.”  


Hamish pauses to refill your cups. He then looks to you. “And what about you, Y/N? What’s your story? How’d a girl like yourself fall in with Arthur’s rough bunch?”  


You smile a little. “It wasn’t hard, to be honest. I guess… if it was so easy to fall in with a group with such rough lifestyles, there must be something bad in me too.”  


“No, I don’t think so,” Hamish says. “I don’t think anyone’s inherently good or bad. People are more complicated than that. Besides, that cut on your face says you’ve lived just as rough a life as Arthur here.”  


Arthur rubs your shoulder gently. You pause. Something about Hamish’s calm and patient energy comforts you and it feels like you could tell him anything. You decide to tell him your story as well, starting off when you were a kid living in Blackwater with your abusive father and passive mother. You end it with the cougar attack and how Arthur took you back to camp to be stitched up. You look down at your arm where the scar is on your arm from that encounter.  


Hamish leans back in his seat. “Real shame how your parents never valued you. I was never lucky enough to find a woman I liked enough to marry or have a family with. I think I would have liked to, but when I lost my leg in that damn war, most women were too put off by it.”  


“So what about you?” Arthur asks as you stand up. You gesture for him to sit and he does, carefully pulling you down to sit on his lap. “What’s your story?”  


Hamish describes how he was raised by his grandfather as his parents had died when he was a young boy. His grandfather was a trapper and taught Hamish everything he knew about hunting, fishing and living off the land. Then the war started when he was in his late twenties and he was sent off to fight. When he came back with only one leg, he found his grandfather had died. He left Hamish his cabin, which happens to be the same one he’s in now.  


“Must have been awful,” you say. “The war. I heard it was the bloodiest in history.”  


Hamish nods solemnly. “Yes. Out of the ones we’ve had so far anyways. I doubt it’ll be the last. But it certainly was horrible to be a part of. I was in the battle of Antietam. I couldn’t tell you how many men died. The bodies lay so thick you coulda walked across the whole field without your boots touching mud.”  


Arthur sighs heavily. “Those were bad times.”  


Hamish nods again, his eyes far away. “Yes they were.” He looks out the window where the sun is setting beyond the mountains. Then his eyes dart to your empty mugs. “Would you like more coffee?”  


You and Arthur nod, so Hamish gets heavily to his feet and goes to the sink to prepare another pot. He suddenly calls out, his eyes staring out the window. You get up to look.  


“What have we here?” Hamish continues, grabbing a pair of binoculars from a shelf. “She’s here.”  


“That close?” Arthur says, standing up as well.  


“Oh yeah. She’s acting brazen. Come on, let’s go get her.”  


The three of you head outside and quickly get on your horses. Hamish leads you as you run down the path in the direction she’d run off.  


“She’s goin’ down there,” Hamish yells back.  


“Wolves shouldn’t come so close to people,” you call back.  


“When the country was wild, they could go where they liked. Now they’re stuck hiding in the few corners of the wilderness we got left.”  


“A feelin’ in which I can sympathize with,” Arthur says.  


“This ain’t a country for wild animals, nor wild people either,” Hamish replies.  


A howl echoes from up ahead in the forest. Hamish perks up and kicks Buell into a faster pace. As you’re rounding a large outcrop of rocks, you see a large animal near the top. It lifts its head and lets out another howl. She truly is a big wolf.  


Hamish guides Buell into the trees towards the outcrop where she was, but by the time you get there, she’s long gone. All that’s left is the freshly killed carcass of a deer. Arthur inspects it, announcing the blood hasn’t set yet.  


“Now where she’d get to?” Hamish asks quietly, looking around. He beckons to the mountain lying to the west. “My guess is she’s somewhere over there.”  


“There’s a whole lot of over there,” Arthur says.  


On the slope of the mountain, the wolf comes out of the trees. Hamish spots her.  


“There she is. Got all shy all of a sudden. Come on.”  


He and Arthur mount up again and the wolf darts off into a thick cluster of pines. The three of you head over to where she disappeared, looking for her tracks which are easy enough to find.  


“You two got a few extra miles in ya?”  


“If we gotta chase her, let’s chase her,” you say, checking your carbine repeater.  


“We better go on foot from here,” Hamish says. “It’ll be too hard to track her through these trees from up there.”  


You and Arthur dismount, sending Artemis and Rannoch off; Buell goes with them. Hamish inspects the tracks for a second, then he looks to you and Arthur. “One of you wanna take the lead or shall I?”  


You hunker down and look at the large tracks. “She’s your wolf, Hamish. Go ahead and do the honors.”  


“Alright, you two keep watch on the forest while I got my eyes in the dirt.” He shifts the rifle in his hands and heads into the thick trees, you and Arthur following.  


The track winds through the thick vegetation. As the forest begins to darken with the falling night, it becomes unusually quiet. Of course, you’re sure this is just a result of such a large predator having been through so recently. However, despite how vocal the wolf had been before, she isn’t howling anymore. An unsettling feeling enters your stomach. You remind yourself that you’ve never hunted a wolf. You’ve killed them, but your previous encounters had all been chance. You don’t know the intelligence of these hunters, either. They must be smart, most predators are. They have to be in order to outwit their prey. However, you don’t know if they’re smart enough to outsmart people.  


Hamish follows the track along the mountainside. It sometimes becomes hard for you to see due to the thick bushes and grass, but he seems to have no trouble. The track winds down towards a cliff’s edge high up on the mountain. The cliff’s edge is clear of bushes and trees and the track goes right through it. Something feels wrong about it, but before you have the chance to say something, Hamish enters the clearing and a deep growl comes from across it.  


Four wolves come bounding across the clearing, snarling and drooling. They’re being led by the massive she-wolf.  


“She led us into a trap!” Hamish hollers as he lifts his rifle and shoots. You and Arthur do the same. You shoot and hit one of the wolves in the shoulder. He yelps but doesn’t stop. One of the wolves break off to deal with Hamish, another to you and the other two leap towards Arthur. They must find him the most intimidating. You shoot your wolf in the chest and it goes down, whimpering.  


Just as you’re turning to help Hamish or Arthur, one of the two wolves near Arthur leaps up, pushing Arthur off his feet. His rifle flies out of his hand, so you quickly aim and shoot the wolf in the head and it topples on top of Arthur. The other wolf leaps forward and sinks its teeth in his upper arm, making him cry out. You run forward and kick the wolf in the gut, making it let go. It hesitates, giving you the chance to lift your rifle and shoot it in the neck. Another shot rings out and Hamish’s wolf goes down.  


You bend down and offer Arthur your arm, pulling him up. As he stands, you get close to him, worried his arm might be torn. Just as you’re reaching up to inspect his arm, another bark echoes through the air.  


A massive wolf, larger than the dead-she wolf, comes bounding across the clearing. He passes Hamish by, his yellow eyes glued to Arthur. He leaps in the air, snarling, and you lift your rifle. Not quickly enough though and the wolf lands on Arthur again. The air is wrenched by a great yelp as Arthur falls back again and you’re terrified his throat’s about to be ripped open. You scream his name loudly, your heart stopping. When Arthur lands, the wolf lies still. Arthur throws it off him and stands up, his hand covered in blood.  


“How-” you begin when Arthur bends down and pulls his knife out of the wolf’s neck.  


“Damn bastards!” he says, wiping the blade clean.  


“They were smart alright,” Hamish says, looking at the wolf bodies.  


“Your arm,” you say, grabbing Arthur’s sleeve and pulling it up. You’re relieved to see there’s only a little blood on the fabric, but you can’t slide it up enough to see the wound. He grabs your hand.  


“We’ll deal with it in a minute, okay? I’ll be okay.” He looks around. “Is that all of ‘em?”  


“Think that’s the best of them,” Hamish says, poking the giant wolf with his boot. “Big son of a bitch. Look at him, proud thing.”  


“Scary thing,” you say.  


Arthur huffs next to you. “They brought us here to be slaughtered.”  


“Well, you were after a hunt.” Hamish kneels down and begins cutting through the fur in order to skin the wolf.  


“Yeah, and I guess we got hunted. Well, you wanna go back to the cabin?”  


“Nah, it’s still early. Gonna dress this animal. Won’t likely see another like him probably ever.”  


“Yeah, I hope I won’t neither. Thanks for takin’ us out.”  


“Any time,” Hamish grunts. “You two ever wanna go huntin’ or fishin’ again, don’t hesitate to come calling. I’ll be here if you need anything.”  


You both thank him and call your horses as Hamish starts pulling the skin away from the carcass. Rannoch comes up but snorts nervously at the scent of the wolves. You pat his neck reassuringly and hop into the saddle, following Arthur down the mountain again. He looks as though he’s ready to head back to camp, but he keeps twitching his arm as though it’s bothering him, so you recommend you stop and make camp, to which he agrees.  


When the tent’s set up and the fire’s going with some meat cooking on the grill, you reach over and unbutton Arthur’s shirt.  


“What are you doin’?” he asks.  


“Relax. Just wanna make sure the wound ain’t too deep.” You finish unbuttoning the blue fabric, revealing his red union suit, and pull the sleeve down. You unbutton his union suit to expose his upper arm. You’re relieved to find the wound is hardly more than a few deep scrapes. You take out a cloth and a bottle of whiskey, pressing it to the wound, making him hiss.  


“I hope I don’t see another wolf for a long time,” he says.  


“I’m sure you won’t. Least you didn’t end up like Marston.”  


He chuckles. “Guess that’s true. How about you, by the way?”  


“Me what?”  


With his free hand, he delicately traces the long cut across your face. “It’s lookin’ pretty good. These stitches should be ready to come out in a day or so.”  


You sigh and lower your hands with the cloth and bottle. “Yeah. It doesn’t hurt so much now, but I’ll probably have a scar. Guess it can’t make me any uglier, huh?” You had tried to pull it off as a joke.  


Arthur tilts his head, not smiling. “You’re still beautiful, you know that right? Even with this. If anything, it just makes you look tougher.”  
You smile and avert your eyes, which land on his bare chest. “Trust me, Arthur. None of that describes me.”  


“Well that’s how I describe you.”  


He leans forward and kisses you. You’re a bit taken by surprise but you lean into him. Your hands brush up his stomach and across his chest, your fingers weaving through his hair.  


He sighs heavily and pulls away just slightly. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”  


“Stop it, Arthur. By the way, I have something for you.” You reach into your satchel and pull out his ring. He lets out a soft huff.  


“I thought you got rid of that,” he admits, taking the ring from you slowly.  


“I couldn’t,” you say. “Even though I believed you weren’t coming for me, I couldn’t let it go. I, uh, actually wore it all week. Today was the first day I haven’t worn it.”  


He blinks a few times and then looks at you, not smiling. “You want me to hold onto this?”  


Your heart breaks when he asks the question. You fold your hand around his. “No, Arthur.”  


Gently, you take the ring from him and slide it over your finger. He smiles and kisses your forehead.  


“Thank you, sweetheart. I know I don’t deserve this chance, but I’m glad you’re givin’ it to me.”  


“Hey,” you say, cupping his cheek. “We both didn’t do well by each other. It wasn’t fair of me to just expect you to drop everything and leave. This has been your way of life, your family, for over twenty years. I shouldn’t have expected you to be able to let it go so easily.”  


“Well, I’m ready to leave it all behind now. I really think I can talk the other girls into leavin’, I know they’re all gettin’ tired of this crap. When you left, they took it pretty hard. Mary-Beth told me if it had gotten to the point you couldn’t be there, then there is no going back.”  


“And John?”  


“Like I said, we’re going to try, darlin’. One last time, we’ll try. If he decides he’d rather stay with Dutch, then that’s on him. I can’t do no more.”  


He sighs again and gently takes yout hand with the ring on it. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d forgive me this quickly.”  


Another pang goes through your chest. “I didn’t think so either. But when that wolf tackled you, I thought that might be it. I thought you’d be taken somewhere I couldn’t follow, and it scared me. What happened last week was bad, but we can fix it. However, I don’t want to live without you.”  


He smiles softly, his blue eyes flickering in the firelight. “Me too, sweetheart. I can do anything as long as you’re by my side.”  


You smile and kiss him again, your arms looping over his shoulders. His arms wrap tight around you, squeezing you to him. When you finally pull away slightly breathless, you lie your head against his neck and he rubs your back. His heat flows through your own body. You could never forget how comforting the heat of his body was, but your memories are nothing in comparison to him.  


You can smell the meat on the grill burning, so you break away from Arthur and eat. When you finish, you yawn heavily, making Arthur chuckle.  


“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get some rest. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”  


The two of you go into the tent and lie down. Arthur still gives you some space, clearly expecting you to want it. Instead, you roll over and curl against him. “Love you, Arthur,” you mumble sleepily.  


He rumbles something but you’re already drifting off, so you don’t hear it. His fingers gently trace the contours of your back, further sending you off.


	31. May the Wind Be At Your Back

Warnings: I guarantee you will cry (I sobbed writing this), swearing, blood, gore.  


Word count: 10,700 (sorry, it's long!) 

The next morning, you wake to an empty tent. You rub the tiredness from your eyes and get out, finding Arthur setting down the percolator to make coffee. He smiles and stands up when he sees you, folding you in his arms. He’s changed from his blue shirt to his black one with the red vest and green shotgun coat. He must know you love seeing him in it. The scent of leather and pine envelopes you.  


“Reckon we oughta make a quick breakfast and head out,” Arthur says, letting you go. You nod and join him by the fire, pulling out a can of peaches. He adds a small loaf of bread and some salted, dried beef to the mix. As you eat, you make easy talk. It feels more normal than you expected it to be, but that in itself is a comfort.  


Arthur douses the fire while you fold down the tent and pack it into Artemis’s saddlebag. She’s standing particularly close to Rannoch, has been since you made camp. Arthur walks over, smiling.  


“Think she missed him,” he says, rubbing Rannoch’s neck and feeding him a sugarcube.  


You pat her fondly. “Well, I’m sure he missed her too. When I was at Charlotte’s and he was loose in her pasture, he used to watch the trail as if waiting for her to show up. Was kind of sad, really.”  


Arthur smiles down at you and loops an arm behind you, bending down for a brief kiss. “Well, they won’t ever be parted again.”  


He lets you go and you mount up, heading slowly to Beaver Hollow. It’s clear Arthur doesn’t want to go back again either, not that you blame him. You can only imagine the rage he must feel towards Dutch for being abandoned. You’re angry about it too. If things have digressed to the point that Dutch no longer sees Arthur as someone worth having around after everything he’s done for the gang, then it’s hard to say how he will feel about you coming back.  


It’s midday by the time you and Arthur arrive. The camp is even more empty and quiet than before you left. The wagon that sheltered Mary-Beth and Karen is gone. As you and Arthur walk towards your shared tent, there seems to be fewer people. It appears that Mary-Beth, Karen, Uncle, and Charles are gone. You already know Charles left; Arthur explained how he stayed to help the Wapiti. You’re surprised about the others though.  


Your eyes drift over to Dutch’s tent, where he sits inside. Micah’s at the table, which isn’t unusual. He’s never far from Dutch anymore. However, two new figures sit beside the tent, looking out of place. One of them is rather thin and lanky, his face too long under his blond hair. When you see the other, your heart drops. You recognize the flabby, long face, the drooping jowls, the dull eyes hidden underneath moppy brown hair. He’s one of the men who attacked you.  


You latch onto Arthur’s arm, your eyes glued to the man, who hasn’t seen you so far. Arthur stops and looks down at you.  


“What is it?”  


“Him,” you whisper. “He-he gave me this.” Your hand reaches up to touch your face where the cut is. Arthur glares across the clearing at them.  


“That son of a bitch, what’s he doin’ here?” Arthur growls. He’s about to stomp over to him when you grip his arm harder.  


“Don’t, Arthur. It’s not wise to kill him here. Let’s find out what he’s doing here in the first place.”  


Arthur raises his lip in disgust but agrees. He gently instructs you to stay in the tent, away from the man, while he goes and talks with Dutch. You sit on the cot and watch him leave, but when he’s far enough away, you get up and follow him, skirting along the sides of the mountain towards the cavern’s mouth where Dutch’s tent sits. Arthur throws the strangers a foul look and then stands at the opening of the tent.  


“Well at least you ain’t run off,” Dutch growls from inside. “Pearson left, old Uncle, the traitors. Both gone, took some of the girls with them. But I see you brought your girl back.” You hear the venom in his voice as he talks about you. “Micah brought in a couple of friends of his to help with some things. Anyways, Pearson and Uncle told young Tilly they were runnin’ to save themselves.”  


“So it goes,” Arthur says.  


“They are goddamn cowards, Arthur. Cowards. After all the time we spent, just to run off.” Dutch saunters out of the tent.  


“Well, I guess they don’t wanna die, Dutch.”  


“Ain’t nobody gonna…” Dutch grabs Arthur’s shoulder and guides him around the tent to where you’re standing. You quickly dart to the back of the tent that stares down into the mouth of the cave. The stench of decay floods your nose, choking you and an overwhelming feeling of being trapped envelops you. You force down the desire to run as you listen and peak around the tent.  


“This is a tough time,” Dutch continues. “But we, our community, we will survive. They will not crush us.”  


“I hope so,” Arthur pauses and looks out at the camp. “But if we let Jack and the women free then maybe we can-”  


Dutch cuts him off. “There ain’t no freedom for no one in this country no more, Arthur. One more big score, we got enough money to leave. All this turmoil has the army and the Pinkertons spinning. We take a boat and slip away.”  


“I don’t know what you’re saying, Dutch, but it sounds like I heard it all before.”  


“Just one more train-”  


“Yeah, there’s always a goddamn train!” Arthur’s voice raises loudly.  


“Arthur! This is different.” Dutch puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We know this is full of cash. Army payroll. Money and supplies to repair the bridge that you blew. This is all going to plan. We rob Uncle Sam and we leave. What do you think?”  


“It sounds wonderful, Dutch. However, I think it should be just us. None of Micah’s friends. You know, Y/N said one of them fellers is the one who attacked her on the road a week back. She said he was told to try and kill her. Now I know what you think of her lately, Dutch, but that don’t change the fact that she’s gonna be my wife soon and I don’t want those men around.”  


Dutch gives him a hard look. “We need their help, Arthur. With how many folks have left, we need their gun power. Now as soon as we have the money from the train, I’ll send them off. Does that suit you?”  


Arthur sighs heavily. “I suppose. But if I end up putting a bullet in his head-”  


“That ain’t gonna happen. Perhaps Y/N is mistaken and he’s not the same man. Even if he is, he’d be a damn fool to touch her here. Like I said, they won’t be here much longer, so just keep your head.”  


“Fine, but…” Arthur gestures to the camp. “You know the women and the children, and John and his family, I’m afraid I have to insist. We gotta let ‘em go, because if the Pinkertons find us again, they will kill everyone.”  


“John? Insist?” Dutch says quietly.  


“Yes,” Arthur says resolutely. “Insist.”  


Dutch pauses and takes in a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is higher than usual, giving you a sense of unease. Has Arthur stepped an invisible line?  


“Of course, pal. Whatever you think is best. I will see to it. Now, we gonna rob a train?”  


“Sure,” Arthur growls.  


Dutch pats him on the arm and starts walking away. Arthur follows him and you take the opportunity to slip out of the cavern and towards your own tent, sitting down on the cot as if you’ve been there all along.  


Dutch approaches the fire where most of the remaining gang have settled. “Alright everyone, we have work to do. We are gonna borrow a little money from Uncle Sam and be out of his hair once and for all.”  


Dutch walks over to the horses. The way his shoulders move and the speed of his step, you can tell he’s angry. Arthur beckons for you to come to him, so you do, avoiding the gaze of the strangers. Despite trying to not see him, you can’t help but keep an eye on him. The one who cut you and you lock eyes. You can tell he’s trying to act like he doesn’t recognize you, but his eyes give him away. He says nothing however as he and the other stranger mount onto their horses.  


“Let’s go, gentlemen!” Dutch hollers from the back of the Count, ignoring the fact that you and Sadie are among the group going along for the robbery. He leads the gang south, past Butcher’s Creek and towards Lemoyne  


You wish Arthur was riding next to you, still feeling nervous about the strangers. He’s riding up near Dutch though, probably trying to ease him into complacency about letting you and the other women and Jack go. Sadie gallops beside you, her horse sweating as heavily as Rannoch in the humid heat.  


As you’re approaching the border of Lemoyne, Dutch calls out behind him that the train is due in Saint Denis in an hour. Arthur automatically questions the wisdom of robbing a train in the middle of the city. Dutch explains the gang won’t be robbing them there, just hopping aboard and hiding until it gets closer to the bridge Arthur and John destroyed. Micah adds in; he must have had a hand in planning this robbery. How could he not, with how close he’s kept himself to Dutch.  


Dutch orders John to grab the remaining dynamite left and Arthur volunteers to go with him. You almost go with him but realize that to do so would be a mistake. You’re sure you’re not back in Dutch’s good graces for leaving, not that you’ve been in them recently anyways. It’s clear he hasn’t liked your relationship with Arthur since he proposed to you, convinced you’ve been trying to take Arthur away from him. You watch John and Arthur ride off into a woodland as the gang continues south.  


As you’re riding along, you realize how much things have changed with how Dutch runs things. On previous jobs, Dutch never let any of the gang leave in groups of more than four, even if the whole gang was involved in the job. Now there’s only one group, being more conspicuous than ever.  


When the group reaches the train tracks just outside Saint Denis, Dutch stops in order to wait for Arthur and John. Only a few minutes pass before they regroup. Arthur glances at you and then takes his spot beside you, nodding to you in order to reassure you. You nod in return. After this is done, you and he will be abandoning the gang, heading off to begin your new lives. With any luck, things will go smoothly. Of course, you’re not too optimistic when it comes to luck, not with the way things have been going.  


Dutch throws the cigar he’d been smoking while waiting and leads the gang into the farms lying on the outskirts of the city.  


“One last time, gentlemen!” he calls out. “I got us a riverboat, it’ll be waiting for us at Annesburg. We’ll head up to New York or Chicago and get a real boat from there out to the tropics. It will be paradise.”  


“It’s all coming together, Dutch,” Micah simpers at him. “Just like we planned.”  


“I hope that’s okay with you John, and you Arthur. Or do you insist on something different?” He puts a particular emphasis on the word that makes you even more nervous.  


“Sounds about as good now as every time I heard it before,” John says.  


“Abigail must be real excited, all packed up the way she is,” Micah retorts. “I can just see her and Y/N and the other girls in little grass skirts.”  


Dread fills your stomach. While today’s been your first day back in camp, you did notice Abigail had packed her things up. How long has Micah known about them leaving? Does he know about you and Arthur as well? And if he does, is he planning on stopping you, or worse? Questions begin running through your mind until John cuts them off.  


“Don’t talk to me, you son of a bitch.”  


“That’s enough, boys,” Dutch commands. “Let’s keep it down for now, don’t want to be attracting any attention.”  


“Any more attention, you mean,” you say before you get the chance to stop yourself. You haven’t been back in this shit-hole of a city since Hosea died, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your face, along with everyone who was involved, is plastered on a wanted poster in every corner of the city. You hate being back here, too much bad has happened.  


“Just take it nice and easy, fellers,” Dutch says, but his voice portrays that he’s irritated with your comment.  


“Ah, Saint Denis. Good to be back. Happy memories, huh John?” Micah says.  


“Will you shut up, Micah?” Arthur snaps.  


“Enough!” Dutch says. “Quiet, all of you.”  


The gang falls silent as you trot in single file down the main street of the city. This all feels wrong. There’s so many of you riding along like this, the first person who’s seen you must already be reporting your suspicious activities. You just pray that no one else dies. Well, maybe Micah or the strangers, but no one else.  


Dutch pulls to a stop at the trolley station just across the street from the railroad tracks. He hops off and addresses Sadie along with the blond stranger, who he calls Cleet. He instructs them to board half way along the train, and then he tells John, Arthur and you to board at the back. The rest will be riding along with him as they tail the train on horseback. The gang nods their heads and approach the tracks.  


After a few seconds, the distant rumble and bell from the train echo, signaling its approach. You sniff a little and stand close to Arthur, glaring down the tracks. The train chugs down the track, going far too fast. The horn bellows and the train passes the group without stopping. Has the engineer been tipped off about a possible robbery in the city? Arthur looks as confused as you do as he looks down the passing cars.  


“Should I just sneak on now?” he asks Dutch in a gruff voice.  


“Goddammit,” Dutch says. “Everybody mount up. We’ll do this on horseback.”  


“We still going through with this?” John asks.  


“Of course we are.”  


The gang quickly get on their horses. You give Rannoch a reassuring pat before kicking him hard into a gallop, joining the others as they trail the train. It hasn’t slowed down at all, in fact it seems to have sped up even more now that it’s leaving the city. John calls back at you and Arthur, stating you can jump onto a flat car from the side.  


Just as the train’s passing the farms outside the city, you and Arthur ride alongside the last car, which happens to be a flatbed. You’ve never jumped onto a train like this, which makes you nervous. Despite your anxiety, you position your feet on the saddle and leap towards the car with as much strength as your legs can muster. Surprisingly, you feel your shoulder slam onto the flatbed. Arthur lands beside you with a heavy thud. He pulls you to your feet and slides the rifle from his shoulder. In your overthinking of how to jump onto the train, you’d forgotten to grab one of your own. Your pistol and sawed-off will have to do.  


Just as John’s slamming down on the flatbed, guards come out of the boxcar ahead and begin shooting. You and Arthur take cover behind some of the cargo, returning fire. The men go down quickly, allowing you and the other two to head up. The next car is another flatbed, and the one after is another boxcar. You watch as Sadie jumps onto the boxcar. Cleet, the blond stranger, leaps on and Sadie offers her arm to pull him up. More men are coming out of the boxcar and you fire at them, continuing to move up. John keeps hollering to push up.  


Just as you’re climbing up to the top of the boxcar after Arthur, you hear him yell, “This is crazy.”  


“You feel like ditching?” John responds.  


“Of course not. We gotta get this done.”  


As you’re straightening up from climbing up the ladder, a man climbs up on the other end. He’s barely put his hands on the roof when a bullet slams into his forehead. Arthur reloads his rifle as you whip out your revolver again. You and Arthur hop onto the next car and then drop down to another flatbed, followed by John.  


“Where the hell is Dutch and Micah?” Arthur roars, shooting more guards.  


“I don’t see ‘em!” John answers.  


“Who knows, this might have been their goddamn plan all along,” you say as you shoot a guard on the roof of the next car.  


As you and Arthur run through the cars, a guard at the end pops out and fires quickly. You’d seen him before Arthur so you push him as hard as you can into the wall. The bullet glides above your arm, missing you and Arthur’s chest by inches. You raise your revolver and shoot the guard in the neck.  


Arthur hardly has any time to say anything before two more guards barrel in your direction, raising their rifles. As you and Arthur take them down; John calls up.  


“Just like the old days huh, Arthur?”  


“This ain’t nothin’ like the old days,” Arthur growls, heading up with you.  


There’s nearly half a dozen men ahead, so you pull out your sawed-off and fire, causing the head of one of the men to explode. You and Arthur push up, taking down more men with John’s help.  


One guard is left standing in the doorway of the next car. Arthur shoots him in the chest and he stumbles back. As he lands on the floor, he fires again but his bullet strikes a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Bits of burning glass and metal fall onto his body, the fire spreading quickly since the hot oil from the lantern splattered onto him and the floor. The fire spreads to some of the cargo and a crate suddenly explodes, making the car completely impassable.  


John runs to the side of the flatbed you’re all on and waves towards the back of the train. “Come on, we can’t get through!”  


Micah, Dutch and the mop-headed stranger gallop up to the side of the car. John hops behind Micah. Dutch yells at Arthur to jump onto his horse, but Arthur ignores him and leaps onto the stranger’s horse, allowing you to take Dutch’s mount.  


You’re nervous once again about jumping, but you kick off the car as hard as you can, landing on the Count’s narrow hind quarters. You fold your arms around Dutch’s waist as he gallops ahead, passing the burning car to the next flatbed. Sadie and Cleet are already waiting on it. You carefully position your legs and leap onto the flatbed. A heavy thud tells you Arthur’s landed.  


As Arthur gets up, he points to the burning car and yells to John. “Uncouple that carriage before it blows us all up!”  


John runs to where the cars are connected. You look down, trying to catch your breath and see in an open crate the components of a gatling gun. You call Arthur’s attention, but he’s staring out at a cliff the train’s passing. You follow his gaze and see a man standing on top of it. He looks behind him and hollers something, waving his arm.  


“Shit, I think that was a lookout,” Arthur says. “They must have known the train was gonna get hit.”  


“Come on, Arthur,” you say. “Let’s get this going.”  


You lift up the heavy tripod that holds the gun up and slam it onto the ground, spreading the three legs as Arthur grabs the barrel, the chamber and the pin. He puts the gun together quickly.  


“Get behind me,” he tells you, taking position behind the gun. Just as you stand behind him, John gets the burning car uncoupled. The three of you watch as the car slows down and then explodes after the cars behind it crash into it, causing whatever was inside to blow.  


After watching the cars derail, Bill hops onto the flatbed after Dutch tells him to go stop the train. As you turn to watch him, a guard on top of the boxcar ahead appears. He aims his gun and shoots, the bullet striking John in the shoulder. Before you or Arthur can do anything, he stumbles back and falls off the flatbed.  


“John!” Arthur screams.  


The guard shoots again, causing you all to flinch. You and the others aim at him, but it’s Arthur’s bullet that takes him down.  


Dutch, galloping alongside the train, calls to Arthur. “I’ll get John, you protect that money.” He and Micah fall back, turning down the tracks.  


“Man the gun, Arthur, I’ll go stop the train!” Bill calls.  


“No! Whatever you do, do not stop the train!” Arthur yells back. “You secure up ahead, but keep us moving. I’ll deal with that patrol when they come through.”  


He finishes putting the gatling gun together and then turns to you. “Go with them, see if you can find that money.”  


You nod and approach Sadie when you hear the gatling gun begin firing. The patrol has arrived. You and the others take cover behind the cargo on the flatbed, firing at the horsemen. Your revolver does little at this distance, so you run over to Arthur and tug on his rifle, removing it from his back and hiding behind him as you reload it.  


“Take cover!” he yells at you. Quickly, you slide back behind the crate again, taking down two riders with the rifle. Of course, Arthur does a much more thorough job with his gun.  


“You sure you can handle that gun?” Cleet shoots at Arthur, “‘Cause I can take over if you want.”  


“Just shut up and kill these bastards,” you snap.  


“Hey, we all gotta work together on this.”  


“And that’s what we’re doing, now just shut the hell up and shoot!”  


Arthur continues firing at the riders, but they just seem to keep coming.  


“How the hell I get saddled up with you two girls?” Cleet snarls.  


“Watch your goddamn mouth!” Sadie says.  


The next several moments are filled with you and the others shooting the patrol, Arthur taking down the majority. It seems like every moment or two, Cleet says something to antagonize you or Sadie. It takes all your willpower to not point your rifle at him and you tell him so.  


“I ain’t afraid of you, woman.”  


“You should be!” Arthur hollers over the gunfire. “She’s already got your friend tagged for murder. Hope you ain’t close to him.”  


Cleet says something that’s drowned out by the engine’s horn as it approaches a short tunnel. Your car is temporarily covered in cool, damp darkness before bursting back out into the hot sunlight. The few riders remaining suddenly scamper off, probably figuring it’s a lost cause at this point.  


“Get off the gun, we need to go for the money,” Cleet says. You and the others follow him over two more boxcars and then another flatbed. The last car before the engine is another box but Cleet says it should have the money inside it. Arthur runs up to it and slides a stick of dynamite in the door handle. He lights it and you all take cover behind some crates and barrels. The metal door is blown free with a loud shriek of wrenching metal. Just as the smoke clears, the train enters a long and dark tunnel. Arthur pulls out his lantern as he runs up to the doorway.  


The train exits the tunnel just as Arthur comes out, snuffing his lantern. “We got somethin’!” He goes back inside and then exits again, tossing a large burlap sack to Cleet. He throws another at Sadie and one more at you. The heavy weight of coins and stacks of bills inside the sack pounds against your chest as you catch it.  


Just as you’re setting down the sack to catch another, Bill climbs down from the car.  


“Morgan! The driver’s dead, we gotta get off this train, it ain’t stoppin’!”  


“Let’s go, then!” Sadie says, grabbing her sack and throwing it over the side of the train and leaping off. Cleet and Bill do the same. Arthur comes out of the carriage, hauling another large bag. Slightly breathless, he gestures for you to jump. You heave the sack onto your shoulder and toss it onto the grass, painfully aware of the quickly approaching chasm with the broken bridge. You breathe out and jump, your feet landing painfully on the grass and your knees buckling, slamming you down. Arthur grunts loudly as he lands.  


You and the others get up and watch as the train barrels down the tracks, falling down the broken bridge and crashing into the canyon below. The engine breaks apart, crushed under the weight of the cars and then the canyon finally falls silent.  


“Jesus,” Bill says quietly. Arthur agrees and tells you and the others to move. You go back to where you’d dropped your sack, heaving it onto your shoulder just as Dutch, Micah and the stranger trot up, followed by everyone else’s horses. The trotting is oddly quiet after having heard the loud chugging of the train and the screeching of shredding metal. However, as you and the others walk up to Dutch, John is nowhere in sight.  


“Where’s John?” Arthur asks.  


“I tried,” Dutch says heavily. “I tried.”  


“He didn’t make it. That patrol killed him. We had to run.” Micah says. Something about the way he says this feels off to you.  


Arthur puts down his sack and looks down, his face hard. You can feel his grief rolling off of him, but when he looks up, he almost seems disbelieving.  


“Come on,” Dutch orders. “Let’s go, before another patrol turns up.”  


You take Arthur’s free hand in yours after he lifts up his sack again. He only responds with a gentle squeeze. The two of you throw your sacks over your horses. He sighs heavily as he mounts up on Artemis. You understand why. The two of you only came back in order to save John and his family, and now he’s dead. You just hope Abigail has enough sense to leave with her son for good.  


Arthur kicks Artemis into a gallop, Rannoch rushing to keep up, as the gang begins heading back to Beaver Hollow. You’re glad that you and Arthur are only returning to pack your belongings and then, when things are quiet, you’ll disappear with Arthur, taking one of the sacks of money you’ve just stolen.  


The gang rolls pass O’Creagh’s Run. You glance to Hamish’s cabin, spotting Buell standing in the small paddock beside it. He lifts his head from grazing as your horses thunder by.  


As the gang approaches the hills marking that you’re close to Beaver Hollow, a horse comes over the rise and a shrill voice calls out.  


“They came and took Abigail!”  


Dutch stops his horse at the head of the group as Tilly rides over with Jack in front of her.  


“We hid, but they took her!”  


“Who did?” Arthur demands, walking his horse to stand next to the Count.  


“Agent Milton and his men took her to Van Horn to be put on a boat and tried for murder.”  


“I am sorry to hear that,” Dutch says with no warmth in his voice.  


“We gotta let her go,” Micah says. “John’s um, well sorry son.” He looks pointedly at Jack with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Without John, she’s just bait. Got a bunch of money, Dutch, she’s just a girl. They won’t do nothing to her, but me, Cleet and Joe know we need to keep riding on this one, Dutch.”  


Cleet and the other stranger Joe nod behind Micah.  


“So we just gonna let this boy be made an orphan?” Arthur says.  


“It ain’t like that!” Dutch shoots, waving his arm at Arthur.  


“What is it like?”  


“I wanna live, cowpoke!” Micah sneers. “Dutch, it’s just a girl.”  


Dutch pauses and then nods. “You’re right.”  


“Dutch!” Arthur yells, dismounting and standing near Dutch’s leg. His eyes beg him to see reason.  


“It pains me to say it, Arthur, but Micah is right.”  


“Dutch!”  


“Now come on boys,” Dutch says, taking a tighter hold of his horse’s reins. He kicks the Count into a gallop and Arthur is forced to take a quick step back to avoid being trampled. He glares at Dutch’s shrinking form as everyone except for you and Sadie follow him.  


“Well I guess that’s that then,” Arthur growls. He looks over at Tilly, who looks confused and scared. “All them goddamn years.”  


“Come on, Arthur,” Sadie says heavily. “Let’s go get her. Us three is all we need.”  


He nods and glances at you before addressing Tilly. He heaves the sack of money from Artemis and throws it over Tilly’s horse.  


“Take this,” he says heavily. “Take Jack and wait at Copperhead Landing for Abigail and Mrs. Adler.”  


“Thank you, Arthur,” she says a bit breathlessly.  


“You’re a good girl,” he says. “You live a good life now you hear?”  


“And you too, Arthur. I’ll miss…”  


“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” His eyes flick down momentarily. You feel like crying as he smiles at her and then turns to Jack. “Be brave, son, I’m gonna go get your mama.” He takes Jack’s hands in his and looks him hard in the eyes as he says this. Finally, he lets them go and turns to you and Sadie. “Mrs. Adler, Ms. Y/L/N, ride with me.”  


He kicks Artemis into a run and you and Sadie follow. You glance behind and raise a hand in farewell to Tilly, painfully aware that you’ll probably never see her again. Your heart grows heavy at the thought of how much your family has fallen apart. You swallow tears at the thought that you didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to Mary-Beth, Pearson or even old Uncle, useless as he was.  


As you and the other two ride, Sadie and Arthur discuss the best way to get into Van Horn since it’s been overrun by Pinkertons. It’s decided you’ll go in on the south end near the lighthouse.  


“Those goddamn bastards,” Arthur growls. “Now he don’t care if he orphans his friend’s child so long as he gets rich? All his goddamn talk all them years. Seems like it was always a lie, or he went crazy. Goddamn this mess.”  


“Sure,” you say. “Guess he began to believe he was God or something.”  


“The Dutch we know now is not the Dutch who put a blanket on my shoulders in the snow all them weeks ago,” Sadie adds.  


Arthur sighs. “I’m sorry you both got dragged into this, into us.”  


“Listen, if you hadn’t shown up at my house that night, I’d be dead.”  


“As would I, Arthur. I don’t think I would have lasted much longer if you hadn’t found me when you did. Even this bullshit beats dead.”  


“I thought I could find a way to get John, Abigail and Jack out of this mess,” Arthur says. “To try and give them a life. Seems like I left it too late.”  


“Let’s just get Abigail, they could still have a chance,” you say.  


Arthur sighs again. “John, Hosea, Mac, Davey, Jenny, Sean, Lenny. We have to put an end to this! And Eagle Flies. Another angry fool he used, just like he did with the rest of us. No one else is dying for Dutch’s crazy dreams. ”  


“Like I said, Arthur,” Sadie growls. “We don’t need them. We’re gonna make this right.”  


The three of you run on to Van Horn. Once the lighthouse comes into view, you dismount and send the horses off. Sadie asks Arthur to take point in the lighthouse with his scoped rifle and keep watch while you and she run up to the boathouse where Abigail’s likely to be held. He clearly doesn’t like you two doing the most dangerous part of the job, but he agrees when you tell him he’s the better shot and that you and Sadie are the faster runners.  


As he runs over to the lighthouse, you and Sadie take cover behind a broken wagon. You look over the edge, counting at least a dozen Pinkertons standing at different spots on the street. The way they’re glancing at each other and the points of the road, it seems Micah was right about one thing: they’re holding Abigail as bait.  


You check your rifle quickly and then the Pinkerton standing closest to you and Sadie is suddenly thrown back, blood gushing from his head. The Pinkerton standing closest to him yells out, pointing his gun in your direction. You raise your rifle and shoot him.  


“Come on!” Sadie yells, moving forward as more Pinkertons fall from Arthur’s shots. You skirt around a crumbling brick building close to the river since it is harder for the Pinkertons to shoot you from this spot. You and Sadie continue shooting at them, moving up considerably fast, thanks to Arthur’s keen aim.  


Within moments, you’re running up the deck towards the boathouse. Sadie slams the butt of her rifle into a Pinkerton’s face and then goes to the door. You’re suddenly slammed into the ground by a heavy weight and realize a Pinkerton must have been hiding and grabbed you when you passed him. He’s suddenly wrenched off you as Arthur’s bullet rips through him. You stand up and find Sadie gone. She must already be in the boathouse, so you run inside it.  


As soon as you step in, you know something’s wrong. Abigail’s tied to a chair, her mouth covered by a thick bandana. A Pinkerton is tying Sadie up and your vision suddenly flashes white as something hard slams into your head. You fall back and the breath is knocked from your lungs as you land. You blink and your vision clears, showing Milton standing above you.  


“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N, I had a feeling I’d be running into you. By the way, I failed to send my congratulations for your wedding announcement.”  


You’re about to ask him how the hell he knows about that when you’re rolled roughly onto your stomach and tied up and gagged by another Pinkerton. He picks you up and throws you into the corner of the room near Sadie. She looks at you, but there’s no fear in her eyes. You doubt you can say the same about yourself.  


Milton walks around the room slowly. “Alright, men, now we wait. I doubt these two ladies were alone, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the men comes charging in, guns blazing. Prepare yourselves.”  


He slides into a storeroom behind the counter, which blocks your view of him.  


Gunfire suddenly echoes from outside. Arthur must know you and Sadie are in trouble and is advancing. You wish you could yell for him to run the other direction. You and Sadie can find another way easy enough to save yourselves and Abigail. Of course, you know better than anyone that’s the last thing Arthur would do.  


The door slams open, revealing Arthur, bathed in sunlight. He pulls the hammer of his pistol, which he’s already unholstered, and shoots the two Pinkertons waiting by Abigail. They fall heavily and Arthur marches in, pulling out his knife to free Abigail.  


“Okay, ladies,” he says as he removes Abigail’s gag and begins cutting the bonds around her right wrist. “Let’s get out of here.”  


You try yelling through your gag, but the click of a hammer comes from behind Arthur. He stops and straightens up.  


“Calm down, Mr. Morgan,” Milton says.  


Arthur clenches his jaw and lifts his hands, turning to face Milton.  


“Game’s over, Mr. Morgan. I was honestly hoping you’d be the one to come to the rescue. I had a feeling Dutch wouldn’t fall for the trap, he isn’t that foolish. But I’ve heard about your… habit of swooping in to the rescue.”  


“Then I guess I’ll be dead soon, and you with me, Mr. Milton.”  


“Oh you’ll be dead, but I’m gonna be just fine. We offered you a deal, Mr. Morgan, you should have taken it.”  


“I’m a fool, Mr. Milton, like you said.”  


“Sure, but not all you boys have quite so many scruples. Old Micah Bell-”  


“Micah?” Arthur cuts him off. “You mean Molly.”  


“Molly O’Shea? We sweated her a couple of times, never spoke a word so we had to let her go. But Micah Bell, we picked him up quite some time ago. Just before Dutch’s famous failed attempt to rob the Blackwater ferry. I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear he wasn’t completely compliant until you and the others came back from the Caribbean. He was particularly stubborn about the bank job in Saint Denis, but he’s been a good boy ever since we picked him up from the boat.”  


You can hear Arthur breathing harder. Micah Bell, the goddamn rat. Now you understand why he started spouting that there must be one when the gang moved up to Beaver Hollow, he was trying to point the focus from his own ass. Worse, he’s been playing the gang for fools the entire time. He’s responsible for Jenny and the Callendar boys and Hosea and Lenny’s deaths. Rage burns in your chest and you strain against your binds.  


Arthur bends down as though personally struck by this news. “Okay,” he says. Suddenly he launches himself at Milton, grappling for the gun in his hands. The two men struggle for a moment, but Arthur has a poor grip on the gun and Milton begins overpowering him. You scream his name through the gag as the barrel lines up with his head. The sound of a gun fires, making your heart stop and a body thuds. You crane your neck, trying to see who’s left standing.  


Abigail lowers the gun she’d taken from one of the dead Pinkertons. You hadn’t even noticed her freeing herself. Arthur must have cut the ropes enough so she could do so. She raises a lip and throws the revolver at the body. “Horrible man.” She picks up Arthur’s knife and cuts you and Sadie free, then approaches the wall.  


“Now come on, all of you.” Arthur’s hand reaches up and takes the knife before he stands up as you untie your feet. You stand up and clutch him, pulling him close.  


“God, Arthur, I thought he got you.”  


His breathing is heavy but he pats your back. “I know, darlin’, I know. But come on, we got work to do.”  


He pulls himself free from your grip and the four of you run out of the boathouse. As you’re running down the deck with the others, shots ring out. You look to the path and find a patrol of Pinkertons running up on horseback. One aims at you and shoots, ripping the hat from your head. You flinch and aim, but he’s already falling from Arthur’s bullet.  


Sadie whistles loudly and the horses come running down the path as you and the others continue trading gunfire. You notice the sack of money you put on Rannoch’s back is gone. It probably fell off at some point, but you can’t worry about that now.  


“Where’s Jack?” Abigail yells as she runs towards the horses.  


“Tilly’s got him, he’s safe,” you respond, shooting again. She breathes a sigh of relief as Arthur tells her to hop onto his horse. Sadie mounts up and Arthur climbs up behind you on Rannoch. You kick Rannoch into a gallop, following Sadie and Abigail out of Van Horn, pursued by the Pinkerton’s. They seem to come out at you at every turn in the trail, but Arthur’s more than a match for them.  


The group gallops up towards Annesburg, but the path gets blocked by a troop of Pinkertons. They even flank you from the train tracks, forcing you to take the trail heading west. You run along with Sadie and Abigail for several moments, Arthur gripping your waist almost painfully as he shoots. You shoot as much as you can as well, but the fighting is hotter than you’ve ever experienced and you have to carefully guide Rannoch down the twisting trail. Finally, as the road heads in the direction of the river, the Pinkertons finally seem to stop appearing.  


Abigail speaks up from the front of the group. “Bastards grabbed me outside camp. I was with Tilly and Jack, it happened so fast I couldn’t do anything.”  


“It’s alright, Jack and Tilly are fine.”  


Arthur suddenly squeezes your waist. “Ladies, we need to stop. Stop!”  


Abigail and Sadie do so, looking back at him. You pull Rannoch to a halt and Arthur lets go of you.  


“What is it?” you ask.  


He dismounts as Sadie says, “Arthur, there’s no time.”  


He puts a hand up to her. He takes off his hat and then goes to Abigail, puts his hat in his saddle bag and then lifts his arms to signal he wants to bring her down.  


She looks at him almost as though worried. “What happened to John? Where’s John?”  


“I don’t… I think…” Arthur stumbles. He gestures to her again and she humors him, sliding off Artemis’s back and letting him catch her.  


“Arthur?” she says.  


“He, um, he got killed or he got captured.”  


“No!” Abigail cries out.”  


“I’m really sorry, Abigail,” Arthur says as Sadie dismounts and hugs her as she begins to cry. “I was on the train and I didn’t see it.”  


He pauses as Abigail continues to cry. You dismount and walk to his side.  


“Listen,” he says, “we got Jack, he’s safe. Mrs. Adler will take you to him, but John… I want you to know this: he loved you. He loved you and Jack, he did.”  


She looks away as she sobs as though torn between wanting to believe it and not being able to.  


“He wasn’t perfect, but he did. Now you gotta go get that boy.”  


She looks at him and her head twitches in a slight nod. Arthur looks to Sadie and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Now go on, get outta here.”  


“Arthur, what are you doing?” Sadie says as she climbs onto her horse.  


“I gotta go have a little chat with Dutch, try one last time to turn his head to reason.”  


He walks over to Abigail to pick her up, but as she’s still distraught over John, she cries out, “Oh Arthur!”  


“Don’t you ‘oh Arthur’ me. I’ll be fine.” He picks her up and places her on the horse behind Sadie. “Y/N will go with you and take you to Jack-”  


“No I’m not,” you say, staring hard at him. “I’m not letting you go back there alone to get shot by Micah, not when you’re going to point out how much of a rat bastard he is. He ain’t gonna like it.”  


“Y/N-”  


“Don’t, Arthur! You asked me to be your wife and I agreed, that means that where you go, I go, remember? And I just got you back, I’m not going to lose you again. Not like this.”  


“Dutch won’t kill me-”  


“He already left you to die, Arthur! I’m not banking on that chance. Now I’m going with you, whether you like it or not. We’re in this together and we’ll get out together or we’ll die together.”  


He stops and looks at you, his mouth pulled down in a frown. “Okay,” he finally says. He looks back up at Sadie and Abigail. “You’re good women, good people. The best. You go get that boy. They’ll be time for good-byes later.”  


He starts to turn away when Abigail speaks up. “Since you’re headed back there, Arthur, take this.” She breaks a chain necklace she’d been wearing and removes the key hanging from it. “I don’t need it anymore. There’s a chest in them caves. Dutch’s chest. With all our money.” She tells him where to find it in the cavern at Beaver Hollow and then pauses as a fresh wave of tears comes.  


“Why, Abigail Roberts,” he takes the key from her as she starts to cry. For some reason, the emotions hit you and you have to wipe your cheek.  


“I always been a good thief.”  


“That you was. Now go on, get outta here.” He pockets the key and then turns to you. As Sadie rides off, he helps you onto Rannoch and then he climbs onto Artemis. He pauses a moment, almost as though the weight of everything has finally hit him. He pulls his hat out of his saddlebag and puts it on, his face set. He glances at you and then kicks Artemis into a run.  


Rannoch follows obediently, but you say nothing. The heaviness of what’s about to happen rushes through you and it feels like everything you’ve done comes to you. You remember your parents, the things they said, your grandmother, watching Rain being born and then dying. The day you found out your grandmother passed.  


Just as you’re passing Butcher’s Creek, you remember finding out your father paid James to marry you, the cruelties he put you through. Murdering him and then your parents. The loneliness of the year you spent alone. Arthur finally finding you and how you created a family with the gang, only to watch it fall apart. You wonder what it all means and if it could have been stopped.  


Artemis runs down the path heading to Beaver Hollow. Arthur hasn’t said anything the entire ride, but you feel he’s in the same mindframe as you, wondering if it could have been different, what everything he’s done really comes down to.  


Rannoch slows to a trot and you see the few remaining gang members milling about, packing up as quickly as they can. Cleet and Joe are still here, unlike what Dutch said, not that you’re surprised.  


As you and Arthur dismount, you hear Micah bark across the clearing. “Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw. Hurry up, we ain’t got long!”  


“We’re doing our best!” Grimshaw snaps.  


“We got plenty of time, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking slowly into the clearing. Micah looks at him, almost as though surprised to see him. You follow, glaring at him, your hand on the butt of your revolver in its holster. “We all need to have a little chat.”  


“Cowpoke, you’re back. Hooray.”  


Arthur ignores this and glares at Dutch, who’s doing his duty by standing in his tent. “I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay, not that you care. You rats.” He glowers at Micah and his friends. “Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton.”  


“What the hell you talking about?” Micah demands.  


“You talked. Been talkin’ to Milton for some time.”  


“That’s a goddamn lie.”  


“Milton told me.”  


“And you believe him, cowpoke?”  


Arthur narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “It all makes sense now.”  


“No, it damn well doesn’t,” Micah hisses.  


Suddenly he and Arthur whip out their pistols and point them at each other. Cleet and Joe point theirs at Arthur and you point yours at Joe. Dutch doesn’t move from his tent, just stares between the two groups.  


“Dutch, think, just think!” Arthur says without taking his eyes from Micah.  


“Dutch,” Micah simpers, “be practical now.”  


Your finger traces the hammer just as another voice calls out Dutch’s name. The group looks and down the path walks John, clutching his shoulder and limping along.  


“You left me. You left me to die!” he screams.  


“My boy,” Dutch says, finally taking a few steps away from his tent. “I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t have a-”  


“You left me!”  


Dutch glares at him. You wonder now how genuine Dutch was being when he said he tried to help John. You’ve no doubt that he abandoned him just as he did with Arthur.  


“All of you,” Arthur demands. “You pick your side now, because this is over.” He glances at Dutch and shakes his head as John stands beside him and pulls out his gun. “All them years, Dutch, all the things we sacrificed. For this snake?”  


“Be quiet, cowpoke.”  


“No!” Grimshaw says, walking up to your side, holding a shotgun. She cocks it. “You be quiet, Mr. Bell. Put down your gun.”  


Javier rushes in suddenly, calling out, “There’s Pinkertons coming fast.”  


Grimshaw looks to him, distracted and Micah takes his chance, shooting her. His bullet strikes her in the stomach and she cries out.  


“Susan!” you say, dropping to her side as she cries out again. You look up again, pointing your revolver at Micah, your other hand on Susan’s shoulder.  


“Now!” Dutch yells out, whipping out both pistols and pointing them both at Micah and Arthur. “Who amongst you is with me and who is betraying me?”  


He walks between yours and Micah’s group. Bill now also points his gun at Arthur while Javier, looking confused, points his pistol up in the air. John and Arthur back up towards the cavern. You stand up slowly, realizing Grimshaw’s dead. You can’t think about that now as you back up to Arthur’s side, still pointing your revolver.  


“Bill, Javier, think!” Arthur pleads. “Think for yourselves.”  


“He’s lying,” Micah says. “He’s lying!”  


Just as it seems like Dutch is about to pull the trigger, a voice echoes down the pathway. “Put your guns down!” Shots ring out suddenly as men dart between the trees.  


“Goddamn it, move!” Arthur shouts, grabbing you roughly and shoving you behind a table. He tips it to act as a barricade as John takes cover behind Dutch’s tent.  


“This is Agent Ross with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Put your guns down!”  


“Everyone get into cover!” Dutch hollers. He and the others disappear from your view as you, Arthur and John open fire upon the Pinkertons. The fading light makes it more difficult, but you keep shooting. More and more Pinkertons seem to arrive.  


“Dutch, we gotta move!” Micah yells. “There all yours, Morgan!”  


“Come on, we need to get out of here!” John screams at you both. Without hesitating, you and Arthur follow him into the cavern. You ignore the pungent stench of decay and the sight of the cage you’d been kept in when you were a captive here. Arthur runs behind you, shooting the few Pinkertons who run into the cave.  


As you and the others run deeper, Ross’s voice echoes through the cavern. “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston, Ms. Y/L/N, stop! You’re trapped. Surrender and we will take you alive.”  


You and the others ignore him, heading to the back of the cave. You see the wagon where Abigail said Dutch’s chest is hidden under. You’re tempted to stop and grab it, but a shot rings through, the bullet whizzing past your elbow.  


“Come on!” John says, climbing up a ladder to a ledge. “Those bastards left me for dead.”  


“Seems that’s what they do now.” Arthur says as he pushes you to the ladder. You climb up as quickly as you can and you run down a ledge after John, climbing up another ladder and over a bundle of rickety boards to another ladder. There’s light flooding in from the top of it, signalling you’re almost out as you hear the Pinkertons hollering from down below.  


“Stay with me, Arthur!” you yell.  


“I’m here,” he replies. “Micah was the rat, John. Milton told me.”  


John reaches the last ladder. “We should have killed him months ago.”  


You reach the top of the ladder as you hear Ross snarl from the ground below, stating he doesn’t care if you all end up dead. Arthur climbs up and then leads you and John down the slope of the hillside. He whistles for Artemis and the other horses, and then looks to John, panting hard.  


“Abigail, she’s safe. So’s Jack. They’re with Sadie at Copperhead landing.”  


John grabs Arthur’s hand. “Thank you, brother.” He looks over at you. “Thank you. Both of you.”  


Just as he begins to let go of Arthur’s hand to run to the horses, Arthur stops him.  


“I want you to not look back on any of this, okay?”  


“You’re co-” John’s suddenly cut off by another round of shots in your direction. Glancing briefly, you see Micah leading the charge, his pistols aiming at you. You and the others run and mount up, kicking them into a gallop as Dutch sends a bullet your way.  


“After all these years, boys!” Dutch calls. “I took you in! Y/N, you’d be dead without me!”  


“Arthur saved me!” you call back. He replies by shooting again, but the bullet slams into a tree trunk.  


“Pinkertons!” John cries out. Ahead, more men on horseback come down towards you. Arthur and John open fire and the path is clear again.  


You weave down the trails as the darkness deepens, making it even harder to spot your quarries. Micah and Dutch still follow, continuing to holler up, but their taunts go ignored. Pinkertons keep coming from every turn in the trail again, guiding where you and the others go. The horses climb out of Roanoke Valley into the Grizzlies East, grunting and sweating as they’re kicked to go faster.  


The path ahead gets blocked again by a wall of horses and Pinkertons, forcing the three of you off the trail and up the foot of a small mountain. Just as you leave the cover of the trees, Rannoch grunts and he takes an odd step. Before you even have the chance to wonder what’s wrong with him, he collapses just as Artemis rears up and falls. John’s horse suddenly crashes to the ground.  


When Rannoch lands, he pins your knee between the saddle and the ground. Your shoulders slam down, knocking the wind out of you. Because of the continuing gunfire, you quickly sit up and shoot the arriving Pinkertons. They go down and the gunfire pauses, but you know it’s temporary.  


You try pulling your leg out from under Rannoch, but it’s pinned and he’s not moving. You pat his neck as hard as you can, crying out his name. Not another horse, you think, not another one. But no matter how hard you smack him or how loud you cry his name, he doesn’t move.  


As the realization that Rannoch is dead hits you, your eyes find Arthur. He’s dropping to his knees beside Artemis’s head. She’s grunting and struggling to breath, her legs twitching. He pats her neck gently, trying to calm her.  


“Come on, Arthur!” John says, rushing over to you to try and help pull you free. “Brother, let’s go!”  


“Gimme a minute,” Arthur says. He pats Artemis’s neck again and she nickers softly. He bends low and says in her ear, “Thank you.”  


“Arthur!” John calls again. “Help me get her!”  


Arthur finally looks up at you. Even from where you’re sitting, you can see the tears in his eyes. He gets up and runs over to you and John, lifting Rannoch’s body up as John grabs your shoulders and pulls you out. When you’re free, you start to stand up, but struggle due to the pain in your knee. Arthur takes your arm and drapes it across his shoulders, then wraps an arm around your waist.  


“Come on, let’s go,” John says.  


“What-what about the money?” you ask. Without the money you stole from the train, you and Arthur will struggle to start a new life. In order to escape, you have to have money.  


Arthur nods a little. “Abigail gave me the key to Dutch’s chest.”  


“I head down there, I’m a dead man, no question,” John says. “I got a family. I care about them more.”  


“Ah, maybe you’re right but…”  


“You want the money? Go get it, but I’m going to my family.”  


Arthur looks at you. By his eyes, you can tell he’d rather help John. He silently asks the question and you nod. At this point, you’d be surprised if any of you make it out of here alive. The least you can do now is try and get John back to his family. They need him more than you need money.  


Arthur puts his hat back on. “We’re coming with you. Gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last thing I do.” He pauses and looks at you. “Can you walk, sweetheart?”  


You nod and let go of him, putting weight on your knee. It twinges angrily but you ignore it. With the adrenaline still pumping in your blood, you’ll be able to keep you going.  


“Thank you, both of you,” John says, running up the hillside. You and Arthur chase after him, trying to ignore the pain in your knee.  


Shots begin ringing out again, plummeting into the rockbed as you continue to run alongside the bend of the mountain. There’s a small break in the cliffs of the mountain, forming a gorge and you run through it, climbing up the next hillside just as the Pinkertons show up.  


You and the others take cover behind some boulders. Arthur’s behind the shortest one and he stands up to get a better aim at some of the Pinkertons. He takes down four of them and then is suddenly thrown backwards, grunting in pain.  


“Arthur!”  


He starts sitting up and then cries out in pain. Staying hunched over, you run over to him and see blood seeping from just above his left hip.  


“Oh God, Arthur!” you cry out.  


“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He pushes you away and stands up, despite the bulletwound. He puts his free hand over it and shoots again, taking down another Pinkerton. You begin reloading when white hot pain skids across your upper left arm and shoulder as a bullet grazes you, causing you to drop your sawed-off.  


“Come on, we need to get out of here!” Arthur roars as John takes down the last visible Pinkerton. John runs up the hillside to a ledge that levels out. You chase him, clutching your bleeding arm, and Arthur hobbles after you. He only takes a few steps towards the ledge when he stops, clearly in tremendous pain.  


“Come on, Arthur, let’s go!” John calls back. You stop, wincing from the pain in your arm and knee.  


“You go,” Arthur grunts, clutching his hip.  


“Keep pushing, Arthur.”  


“No. No, I think I’ve pushed what I can for now. Now go on, take Y/N and go, I’ll hold them off and then when the bleeding stops, I’ll follow you.”  


“Arthur!” you cry out. “Where you go, I go! I’m not leaving you.”  


“Don’t, Y/N! Please, I don’t wanna split up either, but I ain’t letting you die.”  


“We’ll die together.”  


Arthur looks up at John. “You gotta take her. Even if you have to pick her up and run, do it.”  


He pauses and takes off his hat before gazing at you again. “Sweetheart, you gotta go. Please. I… I’ll never forgive myself if you die with me. Now come here.”  


“Arthur-” you start, your voice shaking. He grabs you by the shoulder and puts his hat on your head.  


“I’ll see you again, darlin’, alright? Maybe in a few days, or maybe in the next life. I promise, I’ll find you. But please, please for me. Go with John. It would mean a lot to me.”  


Your heart breaks as you realize you haven’t got a choice. It becomes painfully obvious that he doesn’t plan on leaving this mountain alive, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You sob and nod your head. He smiles at you.  


“I love you, Y/N. You’re a good girl. You saved my life, least I can do is return the favor.”  


He pulls you close and kisses you hard.  


“I’ll always love you, Arthur. No matter what happens, I won’t stop loving you.”  


“I know, sweetheart. I wish it could be different, but this is the way it is.”  


He lets you go and looks at John. “Now get her out of here, John. There ain’t no more time for talk.” He removes his satchel and throws it to John. “Now go.”  


From the other side of the mountain, shots begin ringing out again, warning of the approaching Pinkertons yet again.  


“Arthur…” John says.  


“Go to your family, John and save mine while you’re at it.”  


“Arthur!” you call out. You can’t leave him now, not after he’s called you his family.  


“Come on, keep pushing, Arthur. We’re almost out-”  


“Get her out of here and be a goddamn man!” Arthur roars, clutching his hip again. Despite his wound, he starts climbing up to the top of the mountain.  


John pauses and gazes at him, torn as you. “You’re my brother,” he finally says.  


“I know.”  


“Arthur. No. No! Arthur!” You’re about to take a step to him when John grabs your right arm, dragging you along. You continue to cry out his name, tears streaming down your face.  


“Come on, Y/N, you heard him. We gotta go!”  


“Arthur!”  


John growls and suddenly picks you up, throwing you over his uninjured shoulder. You begin screaming at him, throwing as many insults as you can and poudning his back and sides, but he ignores you.  


“This would be a lot easier if you would just shut up and run with me, Y/N!”  


“Fuck you, John Marston! Put me down!”  


He stops and throws you down, your injured arm slamming onto the ground, making you cry out.  


“I got a family, Y/N! I don’t know about you, but I want to see Jack grow up! Now I thought you and Arthur promised to help me. So help me, goddamnit!”  


You begin sobbing, folding your arms around yourself. John’s patience is waning, you can feel it. When you look up at him, you see the sky through the trees beginning to lighten as dawn approaches. He glares down at you.  


“You gonna help me or what?”  


You clench your jaw and get up painfully to your feet. “Alright, let’s go, John. Arthur and I made a promise. Guess all I can do is try to keep it.”  


John nods, his face relaxing. “Thank you, Y/N. Now come on.”  


He begins running through the forest again, heading south. You limp after him, your knee, arm and lungs burning from the night’s activities. You just hope you have the strength to make it.  


You seem to run for a lifetime, pain shooting through every inch of your body. It’s nothing compared to the agony of your heart. All you want to do is fall to the ground and lie still, let nature grow over your body, but you keep pushing with John’s encouragement. You both burst through the trees, the river greeting you as it glitters with the light of the glowing horizon. You stop for a moment to try and catch your breath. After a moment, you straighten up to see the rising sun, bathing everything in gold. It truly is stunning.


	32. Stand Unshaken

Warnings: swearing, blood, a lot of heartache  


Word count: ~4500

You stand near the river, watching the sun rising, your heart feels as though it’s gone. Not even broken, just gone. John calls your attention.  


“Y/N, let’s go! We gotta keep moving.”  


You blink, tears cascading down your cheeks. “John, I…”  


Without warning, your knees give out. When you land, your injured knee screams in agony. John runs to you.  


“Y/N, please. We gotta do this.”  


You look up at him, silhouetted in sunlight. His dark eyes glisten with unspilled tears.  


“Please, Y/N.”  


It takes all your strength and will to get up, but you do. John pats your right shoulder, glancing at your left which is still bleeding freely from where one of the Pinkertons shot you. You nod to him, signalling you’re ready.  


He runs ahead again, skirting alongside the Kamassa River. You follow to your best abilities, but it doesn’t take long before you have to stop again. John stops and glares at you as you’re hunched down, trying to catch your breath.  


“Come on, Y/N. We’ll steal some horses soon, get there faster.”  


You straighten up and look at him, feeling like you’re about to fall to pieces again. You look to your right and there, in a clearing bathed in golden sunlight, stands a stag. His head is bowed as he grazes, but when your eyes land on him, he lifts his head, showing huge proud antlers. Your mind automatically goes to Arthur and how you just left him on the mountain to die.  


The stag gazes at you for what feels like an eternity. Finally, it blinks and turns, walking slowly and calmly into the trees back in the direction you came from. From somewhere in the corners of your subconscious, a voice echoes. It’s the voice of the blind man you met a couple of weeks back.  


“When the golden stag lifts his head, that is when you must go backwards rather than forward,” the voice says. Understanding rushes through you. It finally makes sense what he was saying. You have to go back. You’re meant to go to Arthur.  


“Y/N!” John hollers.  


You look at him, your face set in determination. “Go, John. Find your family. I have to go back.”  


“You gonna let yourself get killed? Y/N, come on! Arthur didn’t want that for you.”  


You sigh, trying to keep yourself together. You straighten up as much as you can, Arthur’s hat shading you from the bright light.  


“I know what I’m doing, John. Now go. Go and watch Jack grow up, try and make Abigail happy. She loves you more than you know.”  


John looks at you pleadingly. “Y/N-”  


“Just go! They need you more than I do, and to be honest, you have more to live for than I ever did. Just please, for me, go and live a good life, okay?”  


“You wanna go back and get killed, fine. But all it will mean is that Arthur died for nothing.”  


“No, John. He… he died for you. And so am I.”  


Before he has the opportunity to say another word, you run off as quick as your exhausted body will allow, back towards the forest. John calls your name, but you ignore him and eventually he stops calling. As you reach the trees, you look back and find he’s gone. You sigh, resolved to what you’re heading into.  


The trees provide ample shade and cover as you run, retracing your steps. You never should have left that goddamn mountain, no matter what Arthur said. If you don’t end up dying today, you’ll never forgive yourself for leaving him there. You just pray that by some power or force, he hasn’t died yet. Could it be possible he’s still breathing?  


As you think about the circumstances in which you parted, tears begin pouring down your cheeks again. You don’t let it stop you though. You have to keep going. You push your injured and tired body on, tripping occasionally. Every time you do, it gets harder and harder to get back to your feet, but the thought of finding Arthur alive pushes you on.  


A shot suddenly rings out, a thin oak you’d just passed exploding. It brings you to a stop. From out of the bushes comes Micah, pointing his pistols at you, his face heavily bruised and bleeding.  


“Ah, hello Mrs. Morgan. Or should I say, Morgan’s widow? I was hoping I’d see you again.”  


“Micah, you son of a bitch.”  


He chuckles. “Always did have a mouth on you, miss. I gotta say, I admire that in a woman.” He holsters one of the pistols, sneering at you.  


“You sold us out,” you snarl, your hand brushing against the butt of your revolver. “You killed Mac, Davey, Jenny, Lenny and Hosea.”  


He laughs again. “You left one more name out, miss.”  


You pause, unsure of who he means. You look behind him, expecting to see Dutch. Instead, Cleet and Joe are there, pointing their rifles at you.  


“Dutch-” you begin.  


“Oh, Dutch is fine, far as I know. Last time I saw him was right before I shot Arthur in the head.”  


Your heart drops and you suddenly feel cold. He laughs again.  


“That’s right, miss. To be honest, I didn’t think it’d be that hard to kill him. I’ve been trying for some time. I knew quite a bit about Dutch and his boys before I even met him. I must admit, I was jealous. The man has talent at being a notorious outlaw. Has a certain level of charisma few can achieve. Colm told me all about him.”  


“Colm? Colm’s been dead a while.”  


He laughs again, slowly pacing in a large circle around you. “Now come on, Y/N. Thought you was smart. I was one of Colm’s boys long before I met Dutch. But he didn’t have the drive or the talent of ol’ Dutch, so I got out before he had the chance to cut me off. That was when I met Dutch.”  


You keep a firm eye on Micah, trying to think of a way to kill him. Your best bets right now are to keep him talking, keep him distracted. He obviously doesn’t find you as much of a threat, otherwise you’d already be dead.  


“I’m guessing you kept in touch with some of Colm’s boys though?”  


“Well of course. Cleet and Joe were part of his gang too, until Colm was hung and his gang fell apart. But I was able to leak info on both Dutch and Colm through them. Gotta say, it was entertaining for a while to see them running in circles like that.”  


Micah adjusts his hold on his pistol. “I knew right when I met Dutch he’d be easy to manipulate. He saw my talents, what I could do. Knew I could be an asset. But when he introduced me to Arthur and Hosea, I knew they’d have to go before I could do anything to Dutch. They were his voices of reason, the one thing that kept him from falling over the edge.”  


“So you were planning for them to die all along?”  


“Never did like either of them much, to be honest. Hosea never had any spine, and Arthur, well, he always thought he was better than everyone else, always too big for his britches. But Dutch trusted his advice, so I knew he’d have to go. I tried to take care of him clear back after he busted me out of the Strawberry prison. I met one of my old buddies from Colm’s gang up there, and he was in my cell. He thought I was still close to Colm, never was very bright, so he spilled all about a stage robbery.  


“After Arthur busted me out, I got word to Cleet and Joe that Arthur and I would rob the stage and have Colm set up his own trap. Thought killing Arthur would be easy, but of course he survived. Like a cockroach.”  


Micah begins a new circle around you, Cleet and Joe slowly getting closer to you. He continues, “I knew I’d have to be more clever to take Arthur out, so I came up with the plan for Colm to snag him and turn him in to the Blackwater bounty hunters. I was sure Dutch would go rescue him and either he or Colm would end up dead. It went perfectly to plan too until you had to go and rescue him. After that, I knew I’d have to come up with something really good to take Arthur out.”  


“But you were in the Pinkertons pockets?”  


He smiles again. “That’s how you choose to see it. They offered me my freedom and even quite a bit of money if I brought them Dutch or Hosea, so I told them about the Blackwater ferry job. Only Dutch and Hosea got away and the Pinkertons refused to give me what they promised. Said Dutch either had to be shot or hung before they’d keep their end. I spent a lot of time thinking of a new trap.  


“Then Dutch met Bronte and got fooled by him. When I saw how angry he was, I could see the cracks. The only thing keeping him together was Hosea. Arthur had a hand in it too, but Hosea truly was the one thing guiding Dutch. So I told the Pinkertons about the bank robbery and what Hosea’s plan was. And that trap was sprung perfectly, I couldn’t have planned it better.”  


You’re shaking by this point. How dare he do this to Hosea, to Arthur, everyone? Micah laughs again as he sees how you take the news.  


“But you ended up in Guarma,” you say. “Something tells me that wasn’t planned.”  


He licks his lips. “No, that wasn’t. But I played my part, pretended to be a good boy. When we got back though, Milton found me and offered me double the cash. Oh, the money, Y/N. If you were offered that amount in exchange for leaving Arthur, you’d do it.”  


“No I wouldn’t. Arthur is one of the few people in this world you can’t put a price on.”  


Micah smiles again. “How hard it must be for you, knowing he’s dead. Ah, he truly was a good man. How hard he tried to keep Dutch’s head from spinning. How he loved you. But when he announced that you two were getting married, I knew the only way to take him down was through you.”  


“What are you talking about?”  


Joe shifts nervously behind Micah.  


“I set the trap that ended with you getting that pretty little cut across your face. Must admit, it didn’t end the way it was supposed to. Joe messed up, he and George were supposed to kill you. I figured if you were dead, Arthur would be so hurt and turned around by your sudden absence, he’d be easy to get rid of. Turns out you’re just as stubborn when it comes to dying as he was.”  


“You goddamn traitor,” you say, your eyes tearing in anger. “After all the gang has done for you. After Dutch took you in, fed you, paid you and this is how you repay him?”  


“I’m a survivor, Y/N. Ain’t no one out there looking after me except my damn self, so I’m gonna do whatever I can for me.”  


You can feel the tension rising in the air, the inevitable ending coming. You flex your hands, preparing yourself.  


“Oh, Y/N. You can’t imagine my delight in this. Morgan was a huge pain in my ass for far too long. Even though he was on the verge of death when I found him, he gave me quite a beating. Maybe, as a final gesture of how I appreciated him, I’ll take you before killing you.”  


Your heart races faster as you realize what he intends to do to you.  


“I’d like to see you try, Micah,” you snarl, trying to sound braver than you feel.  


You predict what he’s going to do and just as he aims down at your leg to take you down, you roll and dodge to the side. As he aims again, you charge him, slamming your body into his, forcing him down. The pistol flies from his hand. Cleet and Joe are about to fire when Micah yells to them.  


“Do nothing! She’s mine!”  


He punches you in the face hard, throwing you off. Slightly dazed, you try to get up but he crawls on top of you, wrapping his hands around your throat and squeezing. One hand releases you briefly so he can remove your revolver from its holster and tosses it to the base of a tree. You grapple with his hands, but it’s fruitless, so you shove your fingers into his eyes and he lets you go, crying out in pain. You then ram your uninjured knee into his groin, which allows you to toss him off. You get up and dart towards the pistol, but Cleet’s foot comes out of nowhere, connecting with your cheek. Stars erupt in your eyes and you fall down again. A heavy weight slams down on your back, keeping you pinned.  


“Oh, you’re a fighter, Y/N. It’s gonna make this all the much more satisfying.” Micah reaches down and grabs you by the throat again, but you pull out your knife and rake it across his arm, forcing him to release you. The weight on your back disappears, allowing you to get to your feet.  


Micah slams into you, pinning you against the tree. He wrestles the knife from your hand, throwing it into a bush. Then, his bruised face enraged, he places a hand over the wound on your upper left arm and squeezes, causing you to cry out in pain as your arm feels like it’s about to fall off.  


“You little bitch,” he growls. With his free hand, he grabs you by the throat again. You raise your right hand, trying to prod his eyes again but he releases your left arm momentarily to slap it away, still squeezing your throat. The sides of your vision are beginning to fade to black.  


Suddenly, the sound of a pistol firing rings out and blood explodes from Micah’s side. He releases you, stepping back in shock and you slide down to the bottom of the tree, trying to remember how to breathe.  


From behind a boulder, Dutch walks out, aiming his pistols at Micah.  


“You shot me, Dutch. You-”  


“You betrayed me, Micah, betrayed us,” Dutch growls. He must have heard everything.  


Even though your vision is blurry, you look down and see your revolver’s gold barrel peaking through the leaf litter. You pick it up and shoot Micah in the chest until the barrel’s empty. His throat makes a gurgling sound as he steps back again, blood spilling from his chest. He looks at Dutch and then falls, his body twitching. Cleet and Joe run off as Dutch fires at them, but they get away.  


You lower the gun, your entire body flooding with pain. Dutch turns slowly to look at you and then he holsters his pistols. He glances at Arthur’s hat, still on your head.  


“Mrs. Morgan, I-”  


“Shut the fuck up, Dutch, and help me up.”  


He sighs and approaches you, grabbing your extended hand. You get to your feet, groaning in pain. Dutch looks as though he’s about to take you in his arms to help you walk but you slap him away, Micah’s words burning in your ears.  


“Arthur,” you gasp, glaring at him. “Is he…?”  


“I… I don’t know. I… he…”  


“Micah says you were there when he...”  


Dutch swallows. “I didn’t see him die. He was on his way out, no doubt and I… I walked away.”  


You take a few steps back from him, wanting nothing more than to rip his throat out. However, you know you’d be dead at this moment if it weren’t for him.  


“Get out of here, Dutch. But just know that if I see you again, I’ll be there to kill you.”  


He looks at you sadly for a brief moment and then walks away. You watch him go to be sure he won’t turn on you until he disappears through the trees.  


You’re alone again, and the weight of everything and the physical excursions slam into you, forcing you to bend down again. You don’t take a moment though before you’re picking up your revolver and knife. You have to find Arthur. Micah was lying. He didn’t shoot him, he couldn’t have. You won’t believe it until you see him.  


You continue walking on, running when you can stand it. It’s late morning by the time the mountain comes into view. Your body screams at you, begging for you to stop and rest, but you don’t. You can’t.  


You climb up the mountainside again, just as you did before when the Pinkertons were chasing you. After what feels like a monumental effort, you find the ledge where Arthur said good-bye. After inspecting the rocks and grass growing on it, there’s definitely signs of a struggle. On the rock wall, there’s a spot of blood. Then you see the impression of a body lying in the dirt. Leading away from it and up alongside the ledge, which winds up the mountainside, is a trail of blood. You follow it, curving around the bend and then you see him.  


Arthur’s propped up in a sitting position against the ledge wall. Did Micah drag him there? You run the last few steps and then fall to your knees, ignoring the pain from your left knee, as tears overtake you.  


He’s covered in blood from the wound on his hip and his face is badly bruised and cut, but there’s no bullet. You sigh, a little relieved that Micah was at least lying about that part. His eyes are closed and his lips are dry. You grab his shoulders and shake them, crying out his name.  


“Please,” you beg. “Arthur, honey it’s me. I’m here. You can’t die!”  


He doesn’t respond, so you press a finger to his throat. To your surprise, you feel a pulse. It’s weaker than it should be, but it’s there.  


“Arthur!” you cry out. Then, you reach into your satchel and pull out an almost empty bottle of rum. You uncork it and turn the bottle over above his face so the liquid splashes him. He suddenly gasps and his eyes flick open.  


“You’re alive!” you cry out, throwing the bottle. He sucks in a pained breath, his eyes staring up into the sky. It’s almost like he can’t see you. Trying to keep yourself in one piece, you press a hand to his cheek.  


“Arthur, it’s me. Can you see me?”  


He takes in a few more deep breaths and then his eyes finally move, landing right on you. He opens his mouth to speak but only a small croak comes out. Realizing he must be thirsty, you take out another bottle of alcohol, pouring a small amount into his open mouth. He winces as it goes down his throat, but then he licks his lips and closes his eyes, still breathing heavily.  


“Arthur?”  


He looks at you again. “I told you to get out of here,” he says with a deep groan.  


With a loud sob, you touch his face with your hand. “I know, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live with myself knowing you died here alone.”  


He lifts his hand to brush your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Thank you for coming back.”  


He winces in pain again, dropping his hand. You study his face more, realizing there’s a red tint to his skin. The sun is burning him.  


“We need to get you off this mountain,” you say, looking around as if the answer of where and how you’ll move him will be there.  


“Where?” he asks in a weak voice.  


You think for a moment. “Hamish. Hamish isn’t too far away. Arthur, we’ll go to Hamish.”  


Arthur closes his eyes again. “I can’t walk, darlin’. My… my hip.”  


“No, you can’t. But I can. I’ll get him and we’ll come back for you. Arthur, can you at least keep yourself hydrated?”  


He nods, opening his eyes again. You touch his face briefly before getting to your feet again. You reach into your satchel and pull out more bottles of whiskey. “I’ll be right back, gonna get something before I fetch Hamish.”  


Before he has the chance to ask what you’re doing, you run down the ledge and down the mountain and back to where Artemis and Rannoch died. When you see their bodies, your heart breaks. But you can’t allow yourself to mourn, not now, not yet. Arthur needs you. You slide their saddle bags off and sling them over your shoulder, struggling a bit with their combined weight. Somehow though, you manage to make it back to where Arthur is.  


He watches you intently as you take out his tent from Artemis’s saddlebag and position it over him, shading him from the sun. You make sure to keep the opening free so it doesn’t get too hot. When it’s done, you kneel beside him and unbuckle his pants, to which he questions. You tell him to relax and open his jeans and his union suit to reveal the wound above his hip. It looks awful, but it doesn’t look infected yet. You pour some whiskey onto it, making Arthur cry out. You apologize profusely and then place a strip of cloth to soak up what bleeding there still is. You rebuckle his pants in order to hold the fabric in place and keep pressure on the wound.  


Just as you finish and are about to announce you’re going to get Hamish, Arthur grabs your leg.  


“Sweetheart, come here.”  


You look at him, worried. “What is it?”  


He slides a hand behind your neck and pulls you down, kissing your lips. His lips are hot, too hot and after a moment you pull away.  


“Arthur, I’ll be back. Hamish and I, we’ll come get you, okay? I promise, I’ll be back.”  


He nods and you take off his hat, about to give it to him when he grabs it and puts it back on your head. “You need it more than I do right now.”  


You nod and kiss him again. “Don’t die on me now, you hear?”  


His lips stretch into a small smile. “I ain’t gonna die. I got you by my side.”  


You blink, a few more tears escaping, and stroke his face again. Then, with another enormous effort, you get to your feet and leave the tent. You throw Arthur another glance and promise him you’ll come back. He nods in acknowledgement but says nothing. He closes his eyes again and rests his left hand over the wound.  


You turn and head down the mountainside again. Your body is so tired and hurt that even your scar from when the Murfree shot you in the leg burns. It causes you to limp even more, but you keep going. Finally, you hit the road, but of course no one’s there. Sighing heavily, you turn down the path and begin heading down the path toward O’Creagh’s Run.  


After only taking a few steps, you hear the sound of a horse coming down the path towards you. Looking behind, you see a man trotting on a small liver chestnut morgan.  


“You there, can you help me out?” you call out.  


“I don’t need or want your company, now get lost.”  


Without hesitating, you pull out your revolver and shoot him in the back of the head as he passes. He falls off and his horse stops. You’re surprised it didn’t spook and run off, but you approach it, glaring down at the man’s corpse.  


“Coulda been nice, buddy, but whatever. This is easier.”  


With some difficulty, you drag his body into a cluster of bushes and then go to the horse. He fumbles with his bit but doesn’t react otherwise, just looks at you with a steady eye.  


“Good boy,” you say, patting his neck and then climbing into the saddle. The effort is tremendously painful, but you get settled soon after and then kick the morgan into a canter. You silently acknowledge your luck when the lake comes into view. What would have taken you an hour to do on foot takes you a matter of minutes.  


Buell stands outside the small cabin and he rumbles in greeting when he sees you. Patting the morgan’s neck, you dismount but your foot gets caught in the stirrup due to your exhaustion and you fall, pain coursing through your entire body.  


The sound of uneven footsteps comes from the cabin and then Hamish’s voice calls out.  


“Y/N, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”  


You look up, tears leaking from your eyes again. “Arthur… needs help. Please. I…”  


“Hey, take it easy.” He kneels down next to you and helps you sit up. “Where is he?”  


You take a few deep breaths and tell him. He nods. “Okay. Can you ride a little more? It’ll be faster for me to get to him if you can show me where he is.”  


You nod and try to get up, but you can’t do it on your own. Hamish grips you under your arms with surprising strength and lifts you up, then he helps you back into the morgan’s saddle. He mounts Buell and grabs the reins.  


“Alright, Y/N. Come on, show me where he is.”  


Without a word, you guide the morgan into a steady trot back the way you came. A few moments later, the mountain comes into view.  


“I heard gunfire coming from this direction. You two have anything to do with it?” Hamish asks.  


“I’ll explain later,” you croak as you guide him up the mountainside on the morgan. When you reach the ledge, you stop, hoping Arthur’s still breathing. Hamish helps you get off and then you limp painfully around the edge of the mountain until the tent comes into view.  


“There,” you point. Hamish pats your back and goes to the tent opening, peering in. “Well, Mr. Morgan, you got yourself quite a girl. Looks like she’s been through hell and back. Course, you don’t look much better.”  


A small groan comes from inside the tent. Hamish enters it and you hobble to the opening, grateful to find Arthur’s responsive to Hamish. His eyes immediately find you and you start taking a few steps towards him when your legs finally give out and you collapse. The last thing you see is an eagle soaring above as Arthur calls your name.


	33. Hymn to the West

Warnings: swearing, blood  


Word Count: ~6700

All you can see is black as you begin to wake up. At first, you feel nothing. You don’t know where you are and you barely remember your own name. What you do know though is that you succeeded: Hamish came to help you save Arthur. Unfortunately, your exhaustion got the better of you before you could be much help.  


As you breathe softly and slowly, your senses begin to return. First comes your hearing. Birds are singing, but they’re dull. Then you hear the sounds of wet bubbling. The sound is preceded by the smell of cooking bacon. Along with the scent is that of burning wood.  


You feel slightly chilly and a steady breeze wafts over you. A hard surface lies beneath you, further chilling you. Just as you’re acknowledging this, you begin to feel your body and pain comes pounding over you.  


Your eyes flash open and you gasp, your back arching, which only makes things hurt worse. Your upper left arm and shoulder burn particularly bad. Your eyes sting with fresh tears.  


“Woah, settle down, settle down.” Someone walks over and then Hamish’s face appears above you. “Easy. You’re okay.”  


“Hamish?” you squeak.  


“Here, you must be thirsty.”  


He kneels down and takes a water pouch. He tips the nozzle to your lips, dripping water into your dry mouth. Your hands wrap around it, drinking greedily.  


“Not too much, you’ll make yourself sick.”  


You’re in too much pain to argue with him, so you pull the pouch away and breathe heavily for a moment. Finally, your eyes open, even though you’re still in a great deal of pain.  


“Arthur?” you ask.  


Hamish furrows his brow for a moment, his jaw clenching. You suddenly fear the worst.  


“Can you get up?” he asks.  


“Where am I?”  


“My cabin. I’ll explain in a bit, but you better come see.”  


You take a better look at your surroundings. You recognize the stove and the table of Hamish’s cabin. Looking down at yourself, you see you’re lying on the ground near the door. When you stare questioningly at Hamish about your position, he lets out a small laugh.  


“Sorry, had to sort of dump you there and with this leg I can’t lift heavy loads from the ground.”  


You nod and then start to sit up. The act is agony. Every muscle in your body is sore and tired. You move your left leg and your knee immediately complains. You clasp it, grunting.  


“You alright?”  


“Yeah,” you gasp, adjusting yourself to try and stand. Hamish sees how you’re struggling and bends down to help you up. “My horse, he fell on me when they… when he died.”  


“That’s a shame,” Hamish says, pulling your arm over his shoulders. He gives you a sad look.  


“Where is he?” you ask.  


“I’ll show you.”  


The pain in your body is nothing compared to the pain and fear that runs through your chest. Arthur must not have made it, you think. He must have bled out or been exposed for too long. You simply weren’t fast enough.  


Hamish begins to walk you, but instead of leading you to the door, he takes you around to the fireplace. His bed comes into view, Arthur lying on his back.  


You let out a painful gasp when you see him and immediately pull away from Hamish to go to him. He’s wearing nothing but his union suit which is unbuttoned to his mid torso, a blanket covering him to his chest. A few pillows line his sides and prop him up slightly in a sitting position, preventing him from rolling. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted slightly. You sit down next to him and brush the hair from his face, tears spilling down your cheeks.  


“He’s in pretty bad shape, but he’ll be okay I think. Got the bullet out of him and he’s got a couple broken ribs.”  


You look up at Hamish. “Thank you,” you sob. “How long have we been here?”  


Hamish grabs a chair from the table and pulls it over. “It’s only been a day. When you showed me where he was and passed out, I tried to move you and him but as I said, I can’t pick up heavy loads from the ground with my leg. And from what you told me about your gang, I knew going to town for help or a doctor was out of the question. So I went on the trail and happened to bump into a nice fella and his wife and their teenage son riding in a wagon. I told them the problem and they were willing to help. They were kind enough to help me load you and Arthur into their wagon and bring you both down here. Turns out the wife works in the doctor’s office in Annesburg, so she knew a few things. She helped me pull the bullet out of him.”  


“Was he… was he awake when you did that?”  


“No. We knew he had broken ribs when we tried moving him. Even just trying to get him to sit up seemed to be too painful and he went out soon after. It was a good thing because he was panicking about you when he saw you fall.”  


He pauses and smacks his lips a little. “When you collapsed, he tried to move but just couldn’t. I haven’t seen anyone beaten the way he is with that look in their eyes since the war. Now why don’t you tell me exactly what happened up there? You’re all torn up and he looks worse.”  


You sigh and wipe your cheeks dry, keeping your hand on Arthur’s chest. You’re comforted by the steady rise and fall as he breathes. You tell Hamish everything that happened from the train robbery to saving Abigail and killing Milton to Dutch betraying you.  


When you get to the part where you were by the river with John, you have to pause again as tears overwhelm you. Hamish gets up and gets a cup, filling it with water and bringing it back to you. After taking a sip, you continue on.  


“Micah found me, that little bastard. He told me that he’s been working against us the entire time. How could I have been so stupid?” you sob. “I heard him telling Dutch all about the ferry job all them months ago. He set us up.”  


Hamish pats your shoulder comfortingly. “You couldn’t have known, Y/N. If he managed to play that many sides for so long, he was very clever. Knew exactly how to manipulate the rules of the game in his favor.”  


You nod, looking at Arthur’s bruised and cut face. He hasn’t moved at all. After a moment, you continue telling Hamish your story up to the point where you found Arthur.  


“Please tell me he’s going to make it,” you beg him as if he has any control over Arthur’s fate.  


Hamish sighs. “Doing everything I can, miss. The young lady who helped me had some kind of alcohol the doctor uses, gave me that to clean the wound, then she stitched him up. Long as it doesn’t get infected, he should be fine. But to be honest, he hasn’t moved at all since he’s been here.”  


You involuntarily let out a sob and look down, stroking Arthur’s face.  
Hamish sighs and stands up. “Well, I got some bait cooking up, been seeing signs of some giant pig about. I’m going to finish that, then I’ll make you something to eat. You need anything now?”  


You look up at him and shake your head.  


“Okay. Well, get some rest.”  


Hamish walks away to the stove and begins stirring whatever’s cooking inside, which explains the bubbling you heard when you woke up. You watch him for a moment, still somewhat dazed by everything that’s happened. With a heavy sigh, you lie down next to Arthur, resting your head on his shoulder, wishing he would wake up. 

Another day passes by and Arthur still hasn’t woken up. Hamish has been a blessing. He let you spend the night in his bed with Arthur. He happened to have a cot which he set up on the other side of the fireplace. You briefly noticed the fish you caught mounted up as well as the wolf that nearly killed Arthur sitting on either side of the fireplace. Hamish made you a plate of venison with canned peas, but understands when you don’t eat much.  


You hardly leave Arthur’s side, constantly hoping he’ll wake up. Hamish notices the stitches on your face are ready to come out, so he sits down and removes them for you. That’s when you notice the stitches in your upper left arm where the bullet grazed you. Hamish also noticed how you were favoring your left knee when you walked. Figuring it was just sprained, he wrapped it for you.  


You sleep sporadically throughout the morning, your body still tired and sore. By noon, after finishing one of your naps, you wake to find Hamish gone. Figuring he’s out with Buell or hunting or fishing, you get out of bed and walk around the small cabin. Arthur’s hat lies near the door, so you pick it up and set it down on the bed near him.  


You walk over to the small mirror hanging near the sink. You haven’t seen your reflection since you were at Charlotte’s; that also happened to be the last time you bathed. It’s hard to believe that was only four days ago, it feels like a lifetime has passed.  


In the mirror, your face looks awful. While the stitches no longer decorate your forehead and cheek, an angry red line still marks it. You’ll have a scar there the rest of your life. Along with it are the dark bruises on your lower cheek and neck from when Micah attacked you. You rub your neck, despite the tenderness, and suddenly you’re sobbing.  


How can this have happened? The gang you’d grown to love and view as a family is gone, either dead or run off. Arthur’s fate still hangs in the air and at this moment, it feels like he’ll never wake up. You wish you could forget all of it, it’s simply too painful. It would have been so much easier if Arthur never showed up to collect your bounty.  
Hamish walks in at that moment and he sees you breaking down.  


“Hey, you okay?”  


“Yeah,” you sniff, wiping your cheeks.  


“Come on now, your face ain’t that bad.”  


You laugh at his bad joke, despite the pain. “Good. I was worried.”  


He smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Well, why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up? Lake at this time of day is nice and warm and there’s a spot on the south side that’s sheltered from view. You could use some sun, too. I promise you’ll feel better. I’ll stay with him.”  


You nod and thank him. He gathers a bar of soap and a towel and hands them to you. He also points out where he left your saddlebags so you can take out some clean clothes.  


Once you’re set, you head along the shore of the lake to where Hamish described. You find a cluster of large boulders that form a small pool, perfectly hidden from the road and the cabin. You climb up onto the nearest boulder, sitting behind a bush and undressing. Then you slip into the clear water.  


Hamish was right; you already feel better. The water covers your body to just above your elbows and the sun washes over you. You take a moment to enjoy the sensations of both.  


After scrubbing your hair and your skin, you grab the clothes you stripped out of and wash them too. You drape them over a boulder that’ll be in the sun for most of the day and then climb out of the water, putting on fresh clothes.  


You walk back to the cabin, your heart sinking again, not that it lifted much in the first place. When you walk in, Hamish is sitting on the chair he’s kept near the bed and he’s talking.  


“Ah, there she is,” he says when he sees you.  


It only takes you a moment to realize he must be talking to Arthur. Hamish stands up, offering you the chair and you rush over to find Arthur, his eyes open. He smiles when he sees you.  


“My girl,” he says in his deep, gentle voice.  


“Arthur,” you say, smiling for the first time in days. You place your good knee on the bed and place a hand on his cheek. He sighs and puts his hand over yours.  


“How you feeling?” you ask.  


“Just dandy,” he says with a smile. “And what about you?”  


“About the same,” you say, your eyes tearing up again.  


His arms suddenly lift away from his body, inviting you to lay down with him.  


“Arthur, your ribs. I don’t wanna hurt you.”  


“You ain’t, darlin’. Just come here.”  


You hesitate and then lay down, resting your head against his neck. He rests his cheek on your head and his arms enfold you. For the first time in a long time, it feels like home. His warmth seeps into your cool skin. Tears squeeze from your eyes again.  


He sighs heavily and rubs your back. “Saved my life again, darlin’. Me findin’ you in Tall Trees was the best thing I ever done.”  


“You must be in a lot of pain, Arthur, you’re delirious.”  


His arms stop and his cheek leaves your head. He tilts your face up so he can look at it.  


“I am in pain, sweetheart, but I ain’t crazy. I would have died on that mountain if it hadn’t been for you. If only I knew when I took your bounty poster from that sheriff how much of an impact you’d have on me.”  


“Would you still have come if you knew?”  


He smiles and kisses your forehead. “Oh yes. And I’d have gotten there sooner too. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”  


You lean up to look at him better. “Well, you saved my life by coming after my bounty, Arthur. Guess the least I could do is save you back.”  


His thumb traces your cheek as he says “Well, you’ve saved me more than I saved you. Think it’s my turn next time.”  


You sigh and lay back down. “I hope there won’t be a next time, Arthur. I’m so tired of running and being scared.”  


“Me too, sweetheart.”  


A few more moments pass in silence. You replay the events of that night when you and Arthur fled with John. You remember the Pinkertons, how many there were, and then you recall how they were still coming when Arthur sent you away.  


“Arthur, what happened with the Pinkertons? When John and I left, they were still coming after you.”  


He doesn’t speak up immediately. “Right after you and John left, Micah showed up. He tackled me and threw me down to the ledge. That’s how these ribs got broke. Anyways, we fought there and because of my damn hip and ribs, he had the upper hand. I fought him as hard as I could but then I just couldn’t stand anymore. His gun got thrown so I started crawling to it. That was when Dutch showed up. Told me the game was over and he’d won. Course, I told him that it was you and John who won, you were the only two to get out.  


“I remember his eyes when I pleaded to him. It was like he came back to himself when he saw me, just for a moment. Micah begged him to go with him, but then Dutch just turned around and left. Micah must have figured I couldn’t do much, so he ran off. Pinkertons were still coming, but I didn’t care. Thought I was a goner, so I crawled to where you found me. I just wanted to see the sunrise one last time.”  


You’re quietly crying at this point. You saw the same sunrise, remembering how beautiful it was.  


“Then the Pinkertons showed up. Ross looked at me and said I wasn’t worth wastin’ anymore bullets on since he figured I was about to die anyways. They left after that, chased after Dutch and Micah.”  


He goes silent now and rubs your back. After a moment, he speaks up again.  


“Why did you come back, darlin’? You must have figured I wouldn’t make it and it’d be a dead end for you.”  


You wipe your cheeks again. “I had to, Arthur. Something in me just told me that I didn’t have a choice. But when I was coming back, I ran into Micah.”  


“Micah found you?”  


“Yeah. Arthur, he told me he’s been working against us the entire time.” You tell him everything Micah said. He sighs, his brows furrowed.  


“He killed Hosea, Lenny, all the others. That goddamn bastard. I wanted to kill him from the start, but Dutch liked him too much.”  


“I saw him, too. He… Micah was about to finish me when Dutch showed up and shot him. Gave me the chance to kill Micah.”  


“Dutch. Did he say anything?”  


“Yeah. He said how he left you to die. I told him if I ever saw him again, I’d kill him.”  


Arthur sighs again. “Good. That damn fool, lettin’ himself get played for so long. I known him for over twenty years, but I don’t think I ever really knew him.”  


“Micah twisted him, Arthur.”  


“No. Think he was that way before, but Hosea kept him straight. Without Hosea, Dutch was free to show who he really was. All them speeches about how he was gonna keep us together, all them things he claimed to sacrifice, how he kept us alive. They were just a facade.”  


You run your hand across his chest. You can only imagine the pain and betrayal he must feel.  


“I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”  


He kisses your forehead again.  


Hamish suddenly walks in. “Sorry to interrupt you both, but I need to take a look at Arthur’s ribs, make sure the swelling’s going down.”  


You look back at him and nod before standing up and moving away from the bed. Hamish approaches Arthur’s side and pulls his union suit away, exposing his right ribs. You see the red bruises on his side and upper chest. Hamish touches them gently, causing Arthur to flinch.  


“Well, looks about the same. Just keep breathing slow as you can.”  


“How long do ribs take to heal?” you ask.  


“About six weeks or so,” Hamish says, pulling the union suit back over Arthur’s chest. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to hasten the process or even dull the pain.”  


You remember the concoction Hosea made you when you’d been shot in the leg with an arrow. “I have something. You have any yarrow and ginseng?”  


Hamish nods and tells you to follow him. Going outside, he leads you to the back of the cabin near Buell’s stall. There, he has a little shack and when he opens it, you see some gardening tools and higher above, hanging from shelves, a variety of dried herbs. He takes some herbs down and hands them to you.  


As you’re heading back to the cabin, Hamish stops to give Buell a pat. He invites you to do the same, so you walk over and rub his neck. The small morgan you stole comes over, looking for some affection as well. Of course, this only reminds you of Artemis and Rannoch and how they died. Pain pings in your chest again, bringing a new wave of tears.  


When you return to the bedside, you sit down in the chair beside Arthur as you grind the herbs up in a bowl. Something on your face must attract his attention.  


“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”  


You stop and look up. “It’s just… Rannoch. And poor, sweet Artemis.”  


He sighs heavily. “I know, darlin’. I miss her. And Rannoch was so good for you. To have him torn away like that after Rain… I’m sorry.”  


You shake your head, letting the tears spill. “They were good horses. They deserved better.”  


“Yes, they did.” He puts a hand on your thigh as you continue grinding up the herbs. Hamish, silently listening, fills a kettle with water and puts it on the stove to boil so you can make a tea. When it’s cooled down, you help Arthur to drink it.

The next few weeks pass much the same way. Every day, you make the ginseng and yarrow tea for Arthur’s pain. His bruises slowly vanish and the bulletwound begins to heal. He starts slowly being able to sit up more and more as the days go by.  


A few days after he’d first woken up, you could tell he was growing depressed in the bed from the constant confinement. You know in times like this, he liked to write or draw in his journal, but he’d left it in his satchel when he gave it to John. You take the morgan and ride into Valentine and buy him a new satchel and a handsome leather journal with a wolf stenciled into it. When you show them to him, his eyes light up and the kiss he gives you is one you’ll never forget.  


Hamish is a trooper the entire time you’ve been here. You feel sorry for invading his home and his bed as Arthur recovers, even stating you can both leave and get a hotel room in Valentine or someplace, but he refuses. He seems to enjoy yours and Arthur’s company, claiming he hasn’t had anyone to talk to very much in the past few months.  


When Arthur sleeps, which is quite frequent, you and Hamish go out hunting or fishing, which you enjoy. He’s got such a wealth of knowledge and you learn a few tricks such as setting snares for small game like rabbits and squirrels. He also teaches you how to sew pelts together to make clothes or blankets. On his boat, he teaches you how to make lures with the right combination of feathers and gleam. He also tells you stories of the war or when he lived with his grandfather, learning to trap and hunt.  


One morning, you’re sitting out on the porch with Hamish, tying a new lure you’ve made completely on your own. Arthur’s inside sleeping again. Hamish sits on the other side of the door, cleaning his rifle. He keeps mentioning seeing signs of some giant wild boar. You’ve seen them too, occasionally finding dung, tracks and once a dead ram which had been gored.  


The door creaks open and Arthur walks out, wearing nothing but his pants over his union suit. You look up at him and your eyes widen. This is the first time he’s been on his feet.  


“Arthur! What are you doing, go back to bed.” You stand up, putting your lure and twine down.  


“Ah, I’m sick of that bed, darlin’. Besides, I ain’t been outside in so long. Started to miss it.”  


He limps onto the porch and asks you to move your things so he can sit. You can tell his hip still hurts and he moves his upper torso gingerly. He sits down heavily, grunting a little. His beard and hair have grown long since he hasn’t been able to cut it since fleeing Beaver Hollow.  


“Well fine, since you insist on being out here, then you gotta let me give you a shave,” you say, going inside and grabbing the chair from the bedside and heaving it out so you have a seat. Arthur just smiles when you come out a second time holding his shaving supplies.  


As you cut his hair, you can tell he’s eating up being outside, hearing the birds and seeing the lake. You know he would have come out here weeks ago, but you’ve been perhaps a little too protective of him. He’s been very patient with you though.  


You move on to lather his face and then take the blade and carefully start shaving his neck and chin. You try not to laugh as you see goosebumps erupting along his neck and arms as you touch him, but it’s clear he’s enjoying it.  


As you wipe the blade clean, he continues looking at the lake. Hamish stands up, holding his rifle.  


“Well, I’m gonna take Buell and go to town, pick up a few things, then go on a hunt. Either of you need anything?”  


You and Arthur shake your heads and he mounts up and trots off, leaving you and Arthur alone. You pack up the shaving supplies and take them inside. Arthur asks you to grab his hat, which you do, knowing how much he likes wearing it. When you hand him the hat, you notice how dirty his union suit is. Even though you washed it after Hamish patched him up, it hasn’t been cleaned properly since.  


“Arthur, do me a favor. Think you can walk over there?” you point to the boulders where you bathe at the south end of the lake. He looks and shrugs his shoulders.  


“I can try.”  


He stands up with some difficulty, putting an arm on your shoulders so you can help him walk. The stairs prove to be a challenge for the both of you, since your knee is still sprained, but you make it down fine. Unlike you, however, Arthur can’t climb up onto the boulder, so you help him strip on the shoreline and then wade into the water, still wearing your own pants.  


Once Arthur’s settled between the boulders, you climb up to your spot in order to remove your clothes. You blush as he watches you, despite knowing he’s seen you like this many times. It has been a while though.  


When you enter the water, he holds his arms out and you walk over, folding your arms around his waist. You’re glad his bullet wound is beneath the water. Although it’s not infected, it looks gross. You press your face to his warm chest and place a light kiss directly over his heart. A soft laugh rumbles through his chest.  


“Hmm, I’ve missed seeing you like this,” he says softly, his chin on your head.  


“Me too. Just a shame we can’t do nothing just yet.”  


“In time, sweetheart,” he sighs. He lets you go so you can grab the soap. You’re about to start cleaning him when he grabs it from you and starts scrubbing your hair. His fingers rub your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. When he’s done with you, he lathers himself up and then allows you to take the soap and wash the parts he can’t reach and then move on to scrubbing your clothes.  


After you’re done, you help him walk out of the water and onto the shore. However, you realize with a pang you neglected to grab fresh clothes for you and him. When you tell him so, he just laughs.  


“Well, I’ll stay here. You take the towel and head back to the cabin- oh, maybe not.”  


You look to the cabin and see Buell’s there, which means Hamish has returned. “Crap,” you say. “And the saddlebags are inside.”  


Arthur just laughs. “Well, give me the towel. I’ll, uh, go get our things.”  


“Arthur, you can barely walk. I don’t want you pushing yourself.”  


“You don’t gotta mother me, Y/N, now give me the towel.”  


You roll your eyes. God he could be stubborn. You hand him the towel and he wraps it around his waist, tying it off. Then, he starts hobbling towards the cabin. It takes him some time, but he manages to make it. He disappears for a few moments inside the cabin, then he comes out red-faced. Even from here, you can hear Hamish laughing. You put your hand in your face and grown as Arthur makes his way back.  


“Well, glad he at least found it funny,” Arthur says as he hands you your clothes. He whips off the towel, smiling when he sees you staring. You blush and quickly dress yourself so you can help him into his clothes. You ask him why he didn’t bring his other union suit and he just gives you a sly look before going back to the cabin while holding your hand. 

A few days later, you finish cleaning up breakfast. You cooked this morning as a way to thank Hamish for his hospitality. As soon as they were done eating, Hamish headed off to hunt and Arthur went outside again.  


Just as you finish drying the last plate, you hear something thunk outside. Wondering what it is, you head out onto the porch. Although it’s late in the morning, it’s unusually warm and you look over to the left of the house and find something that makes you bite your lip and smile.  


Arthur’s standing near a stump Hamish uses to chop wood. He’s got an axe in his hand and is swinging down on a log. What’s got your attention though is he’s removed his shirt. Even from here you can see the sweat on his neck, arms and chest. You know he really shouldn’t be doing something this strenuous just yet, but he just looks so damn good. At least the bruises over his ribs have been gone for the last couple of weeks.  


He must feel your eyes on him because he looks up and smiles when he sees you staring. Instead of talking to you the way he normally would, he continues chopping, only he’s put more of a flourish in his movements, as though trying to impress you further.  


With a heavy sigh, you walk over to him. “Honey, isn’t that hurting you?”  


He pauses to wipe the sweat from his brow beneath his hat. “A little, but nothin’ I can’t manage.”  


He lowers the axe and embeds it into the stump to stay standing, then he turns to you, giving you a chance to admire the hard lines of his shoulders. You smile and have to look away to hide your blush.  


He walks over to you and enfolds his arms around you, letting you plant your face on his damp and hot chest.  


He begins to say something but then he stops when Hamish’s voice washes over you. Looking back, you find him walking up to the cabin on Buell, singing to himself with two rabbits dangling from his saddle. Arthur sighs and lets you go, putting his blue shirt back on. 

Two weeks later and you’re walking down the trail and back to the cabin with Arthur. He’s insisted every day to take a walk down the trail and go a little further each day. He seems well enough to be able to do it, although you still see him wince every so often.  


Even though it’s been six weeks since the gang fell apart, there’s been no word about Dutch or any of the others. Hamish went to Annesburg a week back and returned, stating the Pinkertons have left. They must have figured Dutch is no longer in the area so turned their attention elsewhere. Not that you care much; you prefer it this way. You and Arthur haven’t spoken of him again.  


When the two of you walk into the cabin, you find Hamish stumbling around on his crutch as he’s taken his wooden leg off. He does this quite often when he’s staying inside, resting what remains of his leg. When he sees the pair of you, he smiles and greets you, sitting down and putting his leg on. He must be preparing to go hunting or fishing again.  


“This is a’right,” Arthur says, looking around the cabin. “Livin’ away from civilization like this.”  


You nod. It has been nice. While the gang never lived in a town, the life was rarely quiet, but here it’s like time stands still. It’s been a welcome change.  


“Civilization,” Hamish grumbles, finishing strapping his fake leg on. “I saw what that and industrial advancement will get you in the war. Progress, well, it ain’t always progress.” He stands up, testing his leg is on properly. “Besides, I’m never lonely up here, even before you two showed up. I always got company with nature. I plan to make the most of it as long as there still is some.”  


Arthur hobbles over to the bed to grab his journal since you and him observed a rather striking bird during your walk. Despite him insisting Hamish take his bed back, Hamish has refused, stating Arthur needs the bed more.  


Hamish limps over to the window by the door. “Oh, there it is! That beast.”  


You and Arthur join his side to see what he’s looking at. By the outhouse stands a massive boar, big as an ox. You never knew they could get so large.  


“Jesus, look at the size of that thing,” Arthur says.  


“When I was coming back from a hunt the other day, I saw some cattle gored, but I didn’t think it was possible for one to get so big. Let’s go get it!” He grabs his rifle and darts out the door. You and Arthur barely have enough time to grab your own guns before Hamish is on the porch. He fires at the animal, but misses, and the boar runs off with a loud grunt.  


“Damn! Thought I got him. You both pursue, I’ll grab the mounts.” Before you can say anything, Hamish runs off the porch with surprising speed. Arthur buckles his gun belt and then hobbles off the porch as quickly as he can. You’re worried about him riding again.  


A few days ago, Arthur begged you to let him try mounting up on the morgan, stating it’s been six weeks since he got hurt. You couldn’t resist and helped him mount up. Although he was clearly in some pain, he enjoyed walking around the cabin on the little horse. He’s been riding every morning since, stating there’s less pain, which has given you some confidence.  


You and Arthur run as fast as Arthur’s capable, following the boar. It outruns you though and soon you’re following its tracks. The slots the boar leaves behind head up the side of a small mountain, which Arthur struggles with. However, he pushes on and steps onto the main trail. Hamish darts up on Buell, leading the morgan.  


“Get on! We’ll get this monster.”  


Arthur nods, panting a bit, and climbs up on the morgan. You slide on behind him, worried he might be pushing himself too hard too soon. Hamish trots along the boar’s trail before you can say anything however and Arthur leads the morgan to follow.  


“Pig shit. Think he’s been through here twice,” Hamish says. “Got two sets of tracks, but I can’t tell which is fresher. Can you?” You and Arthur shake your heads. Hamish stares at the tracks for a few seconds. “Let’s split up. You go up, I’ll go onwards.”  


Arthur nods and clicks to get the horse moving, walking up the trail. After walking up the slope of the mountain, you find the body of a freshly gored wolf.  


“Jesus, thing’s goring wolves too,” you say.  


“Keep an eye out, darlin’, don’t want this thing gorin’ us or the horse.”  


Suddenly, from the direction Hamish had been heading, you hear gunshots.  


“Shit, think he’s in trouble,” you say. Arthur tightens his hold on the reins and kicks the morgan into a run, ignoring your complaints.  


“Arthur, your ribs ain’t-”  


“My ribs are fine. Besides, he might be in trouble.”  


The horse canters along the mountain and the trail comes into view. Across it on the next slope you see Buell and Hamish being chased by the massive boar.  


“Shit, that thing’s after him,” Arthur says. He kicks the morgan hard, running down the trail and following the path the boar left behind. There’s a loud scream and then the horse rounds a bend in the path. Hamish comes into view, though he’s lying near the ground. Buell stands 50 feet from him, pawing the ground nervously.  


“Hamish!” you call out.  


Arthur stops the morgan and slides off, running to Hamish’s side. You do as well and see the blood pouring from his thigh. You grip his shoulder.  


“We can fix it. Hamish, we can fix it.”  


He just laughs. “Nah. No, he got me good. Don’t think there’s any fixing this.” He pants on the ground for a moment. “I got thrown and the bastard hog got me. Take Buell for me, would you? He’s a good horse. He may be stubborn but he’s strong and he likes you two.”  


“Hamish,” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks. Arthur pats his shoulder.  


“We’ll take good care of him, just like you’ve taken care of us. Thank you, my friend,” Arthur says.  


Hamish smiles and then, with a final breath, his shoulder sags. Arthur removes his hand and then reaches for you.  


Just as he’s about to take hold of you, something loud snorts behind him. He turns and leaps to his feet. You do too, glaring at the massive boar. It squeals again and then charges. You both whip out your guns and shoot it, emptying your chambers into its head. Just as the boar’s about to ram into Arthur, it stumbles and falls before lying still.  


“Damn bastard,” Arthur growls, holstering his pistol.  


You put a hand on his back. “Come on, Arthur. Let’s get him buried.” You walk over and grab Buell’s reins, wiping your cheeks dry. Together, you and Arthur heave Hamish’s body onto Buell’s back. Arthur swings up onto Buell and the two of you head back to his cabin. Arthur finds a beautiful spot on the east shores of the lake with blooming wildflowers.  


The two of you begin to dig, although you insist that Arthur takes multiple breaks. After a few hours, the hole’s finally deep enough to be an acceptable grave. Then the two of you set Hamish’s body into it. Standing above the grave, you both look at him sadly. After a few moments, Arthur speaks.  


“Thank you, my friend. You saved both our lives and we can never repay our debt to you. You’re a good man, and I hope you find peace.”  


You grab his hand as your eyes water again. “Thank you, Hamish,” you sob. “I rarely have good fortune, but I was very lucky the day we met you. You saved our lives when no one else would. I’m sorry we couldn’t save you in return.”  


Arthur’s hand slides up to wrap around your shoulders. The two of you stand silent for another few moments and then you begin to cover the body. Once he’s buried, Arthur finds a large, flat rock to mark the spot. For the next few hours, he carely engraves Hamish’s name and the saying “Blessed are those who are merciful”. He asks your opinion and you tell him it couldn’t be more perfect.  


Just as he places the stone down, a light rain begins to fall. Arthur takes your hand in his and heads back to the cabin. You stay there for a few days, but it just doesn’t feel right without Hamish. This was his home after all, not yours. His lake, his trees, his mountains. You tell Arthur you want to head west, somewhere you won’t have to be reminded of how many people you’ve lost.  


Arthur agrees and so you pack up your belongings. You lay a bundle of flowers on Hamish’s grave and thank him one last time. Afterwards, you and Arthur mount up, Arthur astride Buell, and head west into the setting sun. 

**Author’s note: there will be two seperate epilogues. I will post them at the same time so that if you choose to read one over the other, you don’t have to wait**


	34. Epilogue 1 - Take Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of the epilogue has no kids between reader and Arthur

Warnings: None!  


Word count: ~2000

You wake up to the sounds of birds singing. Stretching, you open your eyes to view the canvas above your head. It takes a moment for you to wake up enough to sit up, but when you do, you see the tent’s empty. Arthur must already be out.  


Stepping out of the tent, you find him kneeling next to the fire. He greets you as you gaze around Cattail Pond before sitting down next to him. He’s just finished cooking some bacon that he packed along for the trip. When you’re seated, he pulls you into a big hug, kissing your temple affectionately.  


It’s been five years since he found you near Aurora Basin in Tall Trees. Five long, mostly good years, although you both still often remember the time you spent with the gang, both the good and the bad.  


After you left the gang and Hamish died, you decided to head out west where you both belonged. He wanted to go down as far south as New Austin near Tumbleweed, but you never liked it much down there. Too hot, too dry. Not enough green. When he asked you where you’d prefer going to, you automatically said Big Valley near Strawberry. To your surprise, he happily agreed.  


He found a good patch in the forest near the huge meadow. Said it was the perfect spot for you both to spend the rest of your lives as there was plenty of space and lots of game to hunt, plus Strawberry wasn’t too far. There, Arthur built you a home. You said it would be easier to just buy one of those premade homes you’d been hearing about. It would take less time and energy, plus it could be built before winter, but Arthur hated the idea. He said he wanted to build you something with his bare hands. You were sure he did it because you’d both lost so much recently and he just wanted something good to come from it.  


However, money was very tight when he began. The only money you had was the little from your satchel, which certainly wasn’t enough to buy the right tools for the job or horses or oxen to help. Arthur recalled the money left in Blackwater and he was sure Dutch or any of the others hadn’t gone back looking for it. So one night, you both snuck in and found, in a large tree near a headstone marked “Greta Van der Linde”, a small chest hidden inside with over $50,000. Neither of you could believe your luck, but you wasted no time in taking it.  


With the new money, Arthur bought two oxen, tools and even hired a few hands to help him cut down the lumber and shape it before building it. While he and the hands worked, you worked on getting a garden going.  


Soon after, the two of you got married. It was easily the happiest day of your life. It was very simple and few guests were there to witness it. Charlotte was one of them. She’d travelled all the way from Annesburg to Strawberry, but she said she wouldn’t dream of missing it. Charles was there as well. Word of the gang’s misfortunes had gotten to him up north. He believed you were both dead, but when he found no signs of your bodies, he pieced the story together and knew you’d both head west. He was the only one from the gang you and Arthur saw after John left. You wished he, Abigail, Jack and Sadie could have been there as well, but you’d heard nothing from them. They probably believed you and Arthur to be dead.  


The structure of the house took months to build and then winter came, which forced Arthur to stop building onto it. It didn’t stop him from continuing to cut the smaller pieces, such as the roof tiles. He also worked on getting the fireplace built so that the two of you could huddle under your tent and be warm near the fire in what would be the living room.  


It took two years until the house was finished and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder. He said it was for you, but you reminded him it was for his benefit as well. A few months later, he built a barn so Buell could have a proper stall. The old morgan you’d stolen died a few months previously, taken down by a broken leg. It was sad, but not as painful as losing Rannoch or Rain, both of whom you still miss deeply. It was easy to see Arthur still missed Artemis.  


When the barn was built, you and Arthur bought two milking cows and chickens, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to make your home into a functioning ranch. Arthur had other ideas, however. He came home one day with four mares and an exceptionally handsome blood bay thoroughbred stallion named Jake, stating he wanted to breed horses. You couldn’t say no, he seemed so excited.  


You still felt bad that you couldn’t give Arthur children. You knew he’d be a wonderful father, but he said he was actually happy you couldn’t. He said that after Eliza and Isaac, he didn’t want kids because he was scared he’d mess up or that what happened to them could happen to you. His heart simply couldn’t bear that pain.  


Arthur hands you the bacon and then leans back a bit on his hands.  


“What you thinkin’ about?” he asks.  


“Nothing really. Just how pretty it is out here.” He chuckles softly and kisses your head again. You were the one who asked to go on this hunting trip, still not liking to be tied to one place for too long, as beautiful as your home is. Arthur’s much the same way. He simply spent too much time moving from one place to the next with the gang that he gets easily frustrated when he’s been cooped up too long.  


“Reckon we should head back soon though. Carson will probably need help fixin’ the fence.”  


You sigh. Carson is a boy from Strawberry. He was the first hand Arthur hired to help build the house and then, to your surprise, built him a small one-room cabin not far from the property. When you asked him why, he stated that when he helped Micah escape the Strawberry prison, Micah killed a man and his wife. Carson happened to be their only son and he was all alone, except for his yellow lab Lily. Arthur felt guilty for Carson’s fate, so he invited the boy to live on your land and work as a hand.  


It was one of the best things Arthur’s done. Carson’s a pleasant, kind and thoughtful boy. He works well with the horses, but his affection for them is nothing compared to how he treats Lily.  


You could tell Arthur really liked her as well, but she wasn’t his dog so they couldn’t have the same relationship. So, for his birthday, you bought Arthur a mountain dog puppy. He and that puppy were in love at first sight and he named him Timber. From that moment on, they were inseparable.  


Timber runs over to Arthur now, his paws dirty from digging and his tail wagging. Arthur rubs his ears happily.  


“Hey boah,” he says. Timber groans happily and then turns to lick you in the face. “You ready to see Lily?”  


Timber barks. He and Lily are extremely close. Not only that, Timber makes for a wonderful herding dog. He’s very protective of the new foals and when the horses are let out in the big meadow to graze, he watches them like a hawk.  


You and Arthur pack up your tent and douse the fire before mounting up on your horses. You pat your dapple bay breton mare who you named Ruby after Rain’s mother. She’s as big and tough as Artemis was, but looks nothing like her otherwise. Arthur hops onto Buell’s back and together, you ride home laiden with pelts.You’ll likely keep a couple and then sell the rest. Your saddlebags are bulging with fresh herbs, which you’ll hang in the barn to dry.  


After nearly an hour’s travel, you see the trail leading off to Pinewood Crest, your home. Arthur had wanted to name it Hosea’s Rest but you stated you needed to keep a low profile and try your best not to have any affiliations with the gang for both your protection. Carson waves to you from the meadow, where the mares and their foals are grazing. Timber runs over to Lily, barking madly.  


“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Collins,” he says, running over.  


You both say hello and head to the barn to dismount and unsaddle. It was Arthur’s idea to change your aliases. You suggested keeping the name Tacitus Kilgore as it was easy for you to remember, but he said it wasn’t smart. That name was likely associated with Dutch now. Instead, he said he’d go by the name William Arthur Collins, that way if you called him Arthur, people wouldn’t find it suspicious. You also changed your name to Y/F/N Alice Collins.  


After putting everything away and hanging the herbs up to dry, you go out and stand at the edge of the meadow, watching the horses and cows grazing, Timber and Lily rolling in the grass. Arthur comes up from behind and folds his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.  


You sigh and rest your head against him, still watching the foals. There’s a small colt who looks exactly like Rain at that age and you named him Thunder. He kicks his heels, trotting circles around his bay mother named Willow. She ignores him, continuing to graze with the three other mares. Thunder runs near Buell and kicks out near him in play, but Buell just lifts his head, rumbles and then goes back to grazing. Ruby starts rolling in the dirt, making you laugh.  


“Thought you were helping Carson fix the fence?” you ask.  


“Ah, he’s got it for a minute. Besides, you looked so happy over here, had to come be with ya.”  


He kisses your temple again. You turn and meet his lips with yours. He smiles against your lips and then looks out to the meadow once more. After everything you’ve done over your life, after all the suffering and hardship, you’d do it all over again if you knew it’d lead you here. You are happy. 

The End

**Thank you all so much for going on this journey with me. It breaks my heart to end this fic, but it has been such an amazing ride. I would never have gotten far without all the encouragement I’ve received. I cannot express my gratitude in words, but I’m still amazed at how this led me to meet so many amazing people and the friendships I’ve made because of this fic that was inspired by the incredible game Red Dead Redemption 2. Thank you all so much!**


	35. Epilogue 2 - Cruel World, I'm Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of the epilogue has kids between the reader and Arthur

Warnings: None!  


Word Count: 1800

You stand in the barn, dropping your big bay breton mare’s hoof. You named her Ruby after Rain’s mother, and she’s as big, brave and gentle as Artemis was, but looks nothing like her. She snorts lazily as you pat her neck.  


Laura runs in, holding a small yellow flower she must have picked from the garden.  


“Mommy, look!” she says, smiling. You bend down and take the flower from her, smiling.  


“Awe, isn’t that pretty?” You slide the flower behind her ear and she smiles at you. She has her father’s eyes.  


When the gang fell apart and Hamish died, you both decided to head out west where you belonged. Arthur wanted to live as far south as Tumbleweed, but you never liked it down there. Too hot, too dry. Not enough green. When he asked where you wanted to live, you said Big Valley and he agreed.  


When you arrived in the valley, Arthur found a nice property in the trees with the meadow in sight. He surprised you when he said he wanted to build you a house from scratch. You’d been hearing about some premade houses to buy and suggested them instead, stating it could be built before winter came. Arthur hated the idea and said he wanted to build you a home. You told him that if it was what he wanted, he could do it.  


A big problem faced you though, and that was that you both had very little money. You only had what was in your satchel, a few hundred dollars. Arthur recalled the money stashed in Blackwater from before the gang fled there. He had an idea where to find it, so one night you both snuck into town. Arthur found a small chest in the cemetery in a hollow tree by a gravestone marked “Greta Van der Linde”. The chest had $50,000 in it. Never again would you have to worry about money.  


Arthur wanted to stay in Blackwater that night to buy some tools and oxen. However, you ended up getting quite sick that night, vomiting multiple times. You thought you just had a stomach virus, but the nausea persisted for a few days. Along with that, you noticed a few other changes. You became tired easily, your breasts were beginning to swell and your lower abdomen was tender. After three days of you being sick to your stomach, Arthur took you to the doctor.  


After inspecting you, the doctor announced you were pregnant. You couldn’t believe him, after all he was the same doctor who told you that you couldn’t have children. He explained to you and Arthur that infertility was something very hard to detect and he simply assumed it based on the fact that James constantly tried to have them with you and failed. He that you might never have gotten pregnant before due to high levels of stress or that perhaps it had been James who was infertile. Arthur was pale-faced and silent the entire time the doctor spoke.  


When you got back to the hotel to pack up your things, he pulled you into a hug and cried. He couldn’t believe his luck, but he was so happy that you were pregnant. He realized that building a home, which could take years, wouldn’t be the best idea, not when you only had nine months. So he bought a premade home and had the lumber delivered to your Pine Crest, your home.  


A few days later, in the town of Strawberry, you got married. It was easily one of the best days of your life, even though the wedding was very simple. Only a few people were there to witness it. One of them was Charlotte. She cried when you told her you were pregnant.  


Charles was there too. Word had gotten to him about the gang’s fate and he returned to bury those who died. He expected to bury you and Arthur, but when he could find no trace of your bodies, he believed you to be alive and headed west where he was sure you’d be. He’s the only gang member you’ve heard from since. He told you John, Abigail, Jack and Sadie made it, which you and Arthur are thankful for.  


“When’s papa coming home?” Laura asks as you put the grooming tools away.  


“I’m sure he’ll be back soon, sweetie. He always comes home.”  


“Carson says the fence is broke.”  


Carson is a hand on your little ranch. A few days after your wedding, Arthur hired a few hands from Strawberry to help build the house and a barn for Buell. The morgan you’d stolen died from colic, so Arthur bought you Ruby and a gorgeous blood bay thoroughbred stallion named Jake.  


Carson was one of the hands he hired and Arthur found out he was an orphan. His parents had been killed during the Strawberry massacre earlier that same year when an outlaw was freed from prison and shot his parents all over a pair of pistols. Arthur felt sorry for him, probably because he felt guilty for being involved in the massacre, so he built a small one-room cabin just off the property for Carson to live in.  


Carson also had a yellow lab named Lily. She was his only companion after his parents died. Arthur loved her and you knew he wanted his own dog, so for his birthday the following year, you bought him a mountain dog puppy named Timber. Arthur and that dog became inseparable instantly.  


You remember fondly when your belly began to swell, easily observed through your clothes. Arthur was always protective of you, but he became almost a nuisance afterwards. He hardly let you lift anything that was more than 10 pounds or stand for long periods of time. You insisted you were okay, but he wouldn’t hear it.  


It was obvious why Arthur was so protective. He was scared he’d lose you and the baby just like he’d lost Isaac and Eliza. You recall the sweet look he had when he first felt the baby move in your belly. He’d been laying down with you, his hand on your stomach when you both felt a thump inside you. He kissed your stomach so tenderly. After that, he’d sit you down multiple times a week just to talk to your belly.  


When you were 8 months pregnant, he never left the house, afraid you might fall or hurt yourself. He constantly made you sit down and asked you if you hurt anywhere. He’d been a nuisance before but he became a downright pest during the last month. You frequently reassured him you were fine.  


One night though, you were woken by labor pains. You’d had a few false ones before that, but these ones were more intense. Arthur sent Carson to get the doctor while he stayed with you, putting damp towels on your head and letting you try to break his hand. Six hours later, Laura was born. After the doctor cleaned her up and handed her to you, Arthur couldn’t take his eyes from her. You handed her to him and he began to cry. You did too when he said “Hello Laura. I’m your daddy.”  


Laura walks over to Ruby and the big horse dips her head to sniff her. Laura loves all the horses on your little ranch, but she loves Ruby the best. From outside, you hear the sound of a horse approaching. A few seconds later, Arthur walks in with a big smile, Buell’s reins in his hand, Timber following them with his tail wagging.  


“Daddy!” Laura cries, running over to him.  


He bends down with his arms open and picks her up, hugging her.  


“How’s my little squirrel?” he says. She leans away from him and smiles, taking his hat off his head. She slides the yellow flower from her hair and tucks it into the rope before putting his hat back on his head. “Awe, it’s perfect now,” he says.  


“You kept Buell’s braids in,” she says, eyeing Buell. His mane’s braided up.  


“Of course, I couldn’t remove your incredible work.”  


Laura smiles and puts her head on his shoulder. Arthur looks at you and walks over.  


“How was your hunting trip with Charles?” you ask, your hands on your hips as you smile at him.  


“Oh, just fine. Here, I gotta say hi to mama.” He puts Laura down and folds his arms around you, kissing your lips. You both laugh when you hear Laura pretend to gag.  


“Mr. Collins, Mr. Collins!” Carson bursts in. “That coyote’s back, scaring the chickens!”  


Arthur looks at Carson and lets you go, complaining about greedy coyotes as he follows Carson out.  


It was Arthur’s idea to change your aliases. You wanted to keep the name Tacitus Kilgore because it was easy for you to remember, but Arthur said it was likely associated with Dutch by now. He suggested the name William Arthur Collins. It made it easy if you called him Arthur in front of strangers. You changed your name to Y/F/N Alice Collins.  


“Are the chickens gonna get hurt?” Laura asks.  


“No, sweetie. Papa will take care of them. Come on, we gotta get dinner going.”  


You scoop her up with a little difficulty and go inside to start cooking dinner while Arthur chases the coyote off. He comes inside after a few moments, explaining Carson’s fixing the chickens’ fence.  


“I got a surprise for you two,” he says, placing his satchel and his hat on the table. Laura runs over and squeals in delight when he hands her a stuffed squirrel toy. “A squirrel for my squirrel,” he says. She hugs his leg and then runs off to plop against Timber, who’s laying down near the table.  


Arthur smiles and approaches you, holding something behind his back. “Here’s your surprise.”  


He hands you a familiar book. You tear up when you read the name “Fire Bringer”. You lost your copy when the gang fell apart, after you lost everything else too. You wanted to get a new copy, but it was a hard book to find.  


“Thank you,” you say. He smiles and kisses you. When you stretch back down, you look at him.  


“I’ve got a surprise for you too,” you say. He smiles at you, waiting. You grab his hand and place it on your stomach. His brows furrow for a second and then lift as he realizes what it means.  


“You’re… again?” he whispers.  


You nod and he smiles the biggest he’s done since he first walked in. He pulls you into a hug. “I don’t deserve none of you, but thank you for this, sweetheart.”  


“Oh shush, Arthur Morgan. You deserve all this and even more. I love you.” 

The End

**Thank you all so much for going on this journey with me. It breaks my heart to end this fic, but it has been such an amazing ride. I would never have gotten far without all the encouragement I’ve received. I cannot express my gratitude in words, but I’m still amazed at how this led me to meet so many amazing people and the friendships I’ve made because of this fic that was inspired by the incredible game Red Dead Redemption 2. Thank you all so much!**


End file.
